


Everything It's Cracked Up To Be

by suilven



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Drama, F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-11-20 04:53:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 55,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suilven/pseuds/suilven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being reunited on Omega, Garrus and Shepard are about to realize that their friendship may be turning into something more, and that love really is worth fighting for, worth being brave for, worth risking everything for... AUish, set in ME2. Garrus/FemShep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Happy Birthday, Garrus!

**Everything It's Cracked Up To Be**

" _Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk anything, you risk even more."_

_~ Erica Jong_

"Garrus."

"Mrgph." Someone was poking incessantly at his carapace. His first thought was Solana before the muzziness of sleep began to clear.

"Garrus."

He opened his eyes a crack, the blurred outline coalescing into a familiar shape. "Shepard?" He sat up with a start, scrambling backward and nearly managing to fall out of his narrow cot in the process. "What are you doing here?" Even though nudity was viewed much more casually among turians, he'd spent enough time around other races to now feel distinctly uncomfortable in nothing but his undersuit.

Shepard was kneeling next to his bed, her elbows dimpling into the padded surface with her face propped between her hands. "Garrus! I didn't wake you, did I?" Her eyes were wide with what even  _he_  knew to be mock innocence.

"No, not at all. I was only  _pretending_  to sleep." He scratched the back of his neck with his talons and fought the urge to yawn. "What's up?"

"Garrus," she said in a sing-song voice, "guess what day it is!"

It was far too early for this. "Friday?"

"Nope."

"Um, some sort of human holiday?"

"Nope! Guess again."

"You finally gave Miranda that myocardial infarction?"

"Nope! Guess again."

He shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. I give up."

Shepard leaned in and glared at him. "I said  _guess_ , soldier."

"Uh, your birthday?"

Shepard beamed. "Close enough! It's  _your_  birthday!"

"Well, turians don't really do—"

"I know, I know. You don't celebrate birthdays the way humans do." She smoothed back the strands of her hair that had fallen into her face in her excitement and stood up. "So, fine. Happy fifteenth anniversary of your induction in turian manhood, or whatever it is they call it when you're all grown up and start your compulsory military service. It still makes you thirty," she hummed as she searched for the right word, "Palavinian years old today. Which is a birthday. Which means drinking. And shore leave. And more drinking."

Garrus looked at her curiously. "Have you started already?" He couldn't  _smell_  any alcohol on her breath, but she was oddly… giddy.

"Of course not! Now, come on." She sat back on her haunches in a most unnatural way and eyed him critically. "You need to get dressed. Something nice. It doesn't have to be fancy though. We should be on Illium by nineteen hundred, so plenty of time for dinner before we hit the nightclubs."

Garrus glanced at the time scrolling by along the edge of his visor. "Shepard, that's fourteen hours from now. I think we have time."

"I know. I'm just excited. After everything that we've been through lately, I think we all deserve a little down time. Plus, it's a good excuse for me to buy you drinks." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "I don't think I've ever seen you drunk, now that I think about it."

Garrus pulled the blankets further up around his legs. "And there's a good reason for that."

"Oh?" Shepard grinned evilly. "If you're trying to convince me this isn't a good idea, you're doing a really bad job at it."

Garrus sighed, letting his mandibles flare in a small grin of his own. "I should just give up now, shouldn't I?"

"Probably. Now… getting dressed..." She braced her hands on his mattress and propelled herself into a standing position. She took a step towards the lockers that ran along the far side of the room before looking back at him. "Where do you keep your clothes?"

"I think I'm capable of dressing myself, Shepard."

"All right, all right. I'll leave you to it… If you're sure." She fiddled with the end of her ponytail, wrapping the strands around her fingers; toying with her hair just as she was toying with him. Spirits, how he'd missed her, missed  _this_.

"I'm sure."

"You know, I don't think I've ever seen a naked turian…"

"Good-bye, Shepard."

"Okay, I mean I've seen the ones in Fornax, but all those images are digitally enhanced… at least I think they are. Seriously, if you're packing something," she held her two hands apart, "as big as this, then I think I need to reconsider my—"

"Good-bye, Shepard." He hiked the blankets up a little higher.

"All right, fine. I'm going." She turned back at the doorway, giving him a small smile. "Have I told you again how glad I am to have you here? Because… I really am."

He smiled, too, shaking his head as she vanished through the doors.

**oOoOo**

The day went by quickly and, between mapping out schematics for interfacing the Thanix Cannon with the new Normandy and testing out some updated optimizations for the firing algorithms, Garrus scarcely noticed the passage of time until his omni-tool beeped.

_Cmdr J. Shepard:_ _Go get your scaly ass to the showers. Meeting in the Illium docking area in less than an hour._

_Chief Gunnery Officer G. "Sweet Cheeks" Vakarian:_ _Who says I'm not ready now?_

He groaned as his user name flicked across the screen as he typed. Her reply came before he could call her on it.

_Cmdr J. Shepard: I have spies everywhere. Taking a page out of Miranda's book. Go get ready or I'll drag you in there myself._

_Chief Gunnery Officer G. "Sweet Cheeks" Vakarian: Thanks, but no. Heading to the showers as soon as this search is finished running. Will meet you at 1900 in the docking bay._

_Cmdr J. Shepard: Sounds good._

'Sweet Cheeks?' He was never going to manage to live this one down. How many other messages had he sent today without noticing?

_Chief Gunnery Officer G. "Sweet Cheeks" Vakarian: Also, quit hacking my omni-tool._

_Cmdr J. Shepard: I don't know what you're talking about._

_Chief Gunnery Officer G. "Dino Dynamo" Vakarian: Yeah, I'm sure you had nothing to do with it._

_Cmdr J. Shepard: Sorry, missed the last bit?_

_Chief Gunnery Officer G. "Dino Dynamo" Vakarian: You're going down, Shepard._

_Cmdr J. Shepard: You wish. ;) Bring it on, big boy._

Garrus laughed, deciding to leave the search to finish without him, and headed for the showers.

**oOoOo**

Illium's docking bay was crowded, as always, and he scanned the sea of faces—a habit born during his days at C-Sec, and forged into something even more deeply ingrained during his time on Omega. There were the usual scum lurking around the periphery, and he recognized a few faces in the crowd; at least one runner for the Suns, a pair of red sand dealers that he'd busted years ago… No one who was likely to put any of them in danger, at any rate. Since virtually everything was legal here—drugs, weapon trafficking, even a robust slave trade—the level of security was equally high, making it a luxury playground for the galaxy's wealthy elite. He would be willing to put money on the likelihood that every person here was packing one or more concealed weapons, even though it would be suicide by security squad to even  _think_  about pulling it out.

Shepard was surrounded by crew members from the Normandy, although she kept glancing over at the hallway he had yet to fully emerge from. She gave him a fierce grin as soon as she spotted him. As he walked over to her, he was surprised by the number of people from the ship that had decided to come along as well. Shore leave was still a precious thing, even among the more relaxed atmosphere of the Cerberus-run vessel. Joker and Tali were there, along with all the others from the original Normandy—Ken Donnelly, Gabby Daniels, and Dr. Karin Chakwas. He recognized most of the Engineering crew as well, along with Grunt, Jack, and, strangely enough, Miranda Lawson. No doubt, she was only attending to make sure that things didn't get out of hand.

"Hopefully, I'm not too late!" Garrus had to bite back an audible groan at the sound of Kelly Chambers' nauseatingly bubbly voice just behind him. "I wouldn't want to miss the celebration." Coming up beside him, she gave him a beaming smile. It was an effort not to flinch.

Shepard's eyes flicked to Kelly and then back to his, giving him an almost imperceptible shrug of her shoulders in apology.

"The birthday boy is finally here." Shepard clapped her hands together. "Let's get this party started. I messaged ahead and got us reservations at Morbo's. It's a bit of a dive—by Illium standards anyway—but they do levo and dextro cuisine. Supposed to be the best place around for curried  _clath'as_." She winked at him as she said it, no doubt noticing the way his brow plates had risen and his mandibles had fallen slack in surprise. How had she known it was his favourite?

She continued on though, gesturing towards an area at the far end of the docking bay. "Shuttles are this way. I booked four, but we might need one more. I'm sure Cerberus would be more than happy to cover the additional expense, all things considered." She paused. "Should have booked something fancier… Ah, well, too late now."

Miranda glared in Shepard's direction, and Garrus had to laugh at how easily Shepard avoided her gaze, seemingly oblivious.

"All right, let's move out, people! Dinner! Drinking! Embarrassing ourselves horribly on Cerberus' tab! Onward!"

In this moment, she suddenly struck him as unbelievably  _alive_. Sometime between the rocket he'd taken to the face and when he'd woken up to find her contorted and sleeping in one of the med bay's chairs next to his bed, this had become  _normal_  again; a welcome return to a state of equilibrium he'd almost forgotten existed.

She sidled up next to him—Tali on her other side—and he belatedly realized that nearly everyone was already more than halfway across the terminal. Shepard was dressed differently than her usual off-duty attire, in form-fitting trousers and a tight shirt that hugged her form in a way that was surprisingly… appealing.

"Come on, 'Sweet Cheeks,' let's go."

"Don't you mean, 'Dino Dynamo?'" He could hear the smirk in Tali's voice as clearly as if he could see her expression through the smoky glass of her helmet. The two of them dissolved into giggles, with Shepard elbowing the quarian playfully as they walked on ahead of him.

"I hate you both," he muttered under his breath as he hurried to join them.


	2. Best Night Ever

Morbo's was packed; every table occupied and an even longer line up waiting to get in. Shepard breezed through the crowd, herding their people inside like her proverbial namesake. "If you expect them to move, they'll move," he overheard her saying to Grunt. "Show any sort of trepidation, and you'll never get anywhere. Show them strength, and they'll always respect you."

"Yes, Battlemaster."

Beside him, he watched Jack roll her eyes at the exchange. "Kicking them in the balls is effective, too." She was grumbling under her breath about the 'fucking asari;' luckily, Samara was absent from the evening's festivities. "Act all noble with their fucking Goddess. You think she's looking the other way while they're raking in their blood money here?"

Truthfully, Garrus was inclined to agree with her, but he just nodded, not wanting to provide her with an incentive to get louder. Or violent. Well, he thought as she viciously hip-checked a volus who hadn't moved out of her way quickly enough,  _more_  violent, anyway.

The proprietress of the restaurant was an asari—of course—and her eyes became perceptively friendlier as he watched Shepard slip a credit chit into her palm. "This way, please. There's a private table in the back room that has already been set up to accommodate your group."

The other patrons paid them little attention; for the most part, they were all too busy with their own affairs. The only one that got any stares was Tali, although she didn't seem to notice. The Migrant Fleet wasn't permitted in the Tasale System, due to quarian politics that he didn't quite understand all the subtle nuances of, so quarians on Illium were understandably rare.

"This is such a nice change, to be able to get off the ship for a bit and unwind a little, don't you think?" Kelly wound her arm around his as they maneuvered through the tight quarters of the aisles between the tables.

"Yeah, it'll be good for Shepard—for all of us—to get rid of some stress." He tried to be friendly, nodding in her direction politely, even though he didn't take his eyes off Shepard, who was marching along at the front of their strange entourage.

Nothing seemed to dissuade the ever-persistent yeoman, and he had never managed to master Shepard's techniques for dealing with people. Kelly certainly wasn't taking the hint. Her grip tightened around his arm as she edged closer, like a parasite latching onto a susceptible host. This was  _not_  how he'd hoped to be spending his evening off-ship.

The back room of the restaurant was a welcome relief from the crowds. The decorations were sparse, but the place appeared clean enough. A large table had been assembled in the center of the room from an assortment of smaller tables, and two members of the restaurant staff were currently draping the entire surface with a large tablecloth. The proprietress had gathered a stack of menu datapads, and was waiting benignly for them all to be seated.

Shepard miraculously appeared at his side, giving him just a hint of a grin before turning to Kelly. She smiled warmly in a way that Garrus couldn't help remembering had worked wonders on Wrex. And Ashley. And, even Jack, on the odd occasion. "Kelly," she glanced around conspiratorially, "I have a huge favour to ask of you."

"Of course. Anything." Kelly's eyed widened with delight at being singled out.

"Can you sit next to Miranda tonight? I know she's been going through a bit of a rough patch lately, and I really think she'd appreciate having a friendly face to talk to." Shepard leaned in closer, dropping her voice down to a whisper. "Maybe, if she just had someone to talk to, it would make her feel better. Would you mind?" Shepard was slowly dislodging Kelly's fingers from around Garrus' arm as she talked. "Just don't tell her I put you up to it. I don't want her to think that you're only sitting next to her because I asked you to, you know?"

Kelly was nodding almost reverently as Garrus attempted to stifle his laughter, resulting in a choking sort of wheeze that he had to hide behind his hand. "Absolutely, I can do that. The crew's happiness is of utmost importance, after all."

"Thank you so much, Kelly. You have no idea how much I appreciate this."

"It's no trouble at all, Shepard. You can ask me anything. I'm always happy to help." Kelly nodded once more, and then turned to walk around to the far side of the table where Miranda was sitting flanked by two empty chairs.

"Remind me to never piss you off."

Shepard laughed. "Life is about finding joy in the small things, and Miranda's been driving me crazy all day. If you'd rather sit with Kelly, I can call her back. You know, the seat on the other side of her is still free—"

"No, no, I'm good. Really."

"Excellent. Come on, you get the spot of honour at the head of the table."

Once everyone had been seated, Garrus found himself between Shepard and Tali, with Joker sitting directly across from them. He doubted it was a coincidence that the former crew of the SR-1 had all found themselves at this end of the table.

"Okay, everyone, listen up!" Shepard stood up and, after a moment's thought, climbed up to stand on her chair as well. "Food and drinks are on Cerberus tonight, so order whatever you'd like." A cheer went up at that. "After dinner, we're going to move on to whatever club in this place seems the swankiest. Now, the time has come for Officer Vakarian to adorn himself in the traditional garb of birthdays past." She gestured for one of the servers to come forward. He was almost afraid to look.

She was bearing a pointed pyramid with an open bottom—a hat?—made of some sort of heavy paper; a thin string dangled in a loop from the bottom. As the server brought the object closer, he realized that the outside of the hat was decorated with tiny drawings of turians dressed in peculiar pink puffy skirts and pink shoes that laced up around the figures' ankles. There were caricatures of varren scattered between the turian figures, all with over-sized eyes and enormous pink bows on the tops of their heads.

Shepard dropped back down into her chair. "Sorry, it was all I could get on short notice."

"What are they doing?" She wasn't actually going to make him wear this, was she? Spirits, who was he kidding? Of course she was.

"Dancing. Ballet—it's primarily a human art form, although it's evidently being embraced by the other council races." Shepard turned and quickly whispered her thanks to the asari as she stretched out her hand and plucked the hat from the server's tray. "I think they're kind of cute in their little pointe shoes, don't you? Now, bend your head and let me put this on."

It took some careful maneuvering to get the hat itself positioned just below the start of his fringe—so it wouldn't pinch—and the elasticized string holding it in place around his jaw without wrapping it painfully around his mandibles. He raised his head reluctantly. "Do I really have to wear this all night?"

Shepard adjusted the string one final time and leaned back in her chair. "Not all night, but part of it anyway. I wouldn't want to impact your ability to pick up hot turian chicks at the bar tonight. You're thirty and it's your birthday… If any one of us deserves to get laid tonight, it's you. Oh, and you've got the scars going for you, too. Enough to scream 'rebel,' but not enough to scream 'homicidal'… You do look really adorable in the hat though." She hummed quietly. "You know, the hat might get you some action, too."

"For a pity fuck maybe. I'm not supposed to look adorable," he grumbled. "I'm supposed to be fierce… dangerous… stylish."

"You definitely look stylish."

"You're lucky I can't pull a gun on you."

Shepard snorted. "If it makes you feel better, I'll wear one, too. Here." She waved the server back over and, before long, they'd brought over an affront to nature similar to the one he was wearing. "Aw, look, mine has salarians doing what appears to be the Macarena. And they're wearing little feather boas." She tilted the hat towards him to show off the images. "Come on, even you have to admit that those are the cutest little pyjaks holding hands around the border."

"There's something wrong with you."

She nodded sagely. "More than likely. Do you have any idea how many head injuries I've had? Not to mention the whole 'meat and tubes, reconstituted, back from the dead, now with more fiber' incident." Shepard put the hat on top of her head, pulling the elastic string down under her jaw with a snap. "There. What do you think?"

"Very… nice."

"I believe you mean 'stylish.'"

"No, I don't think I do."

Another two servers were making their way around the table, filling glasses with water and depositing datapads in front of each person. He murmured his thanks at receiving his own menu, trying to ignore the asari's obvious attempt at hiding her smirk. As much as the hat  _was_  ridiculous, it was kind of nice to think that Shepard had arranged this all for him. Glancing over at her, he couldn't help the way his mandibles opened and relaxed into a smile, even though she was too engrossed in reading her menu to notice.

He turned his attention to his own datapad. The menu was surprisingly extensive, and fully indexed to allow filtering on a variety of parameters. There was the obvious levo/dextro differentiation, but one could also sort by cuisine—turian, asari, salarian, and even vorcha—and food type—items suitable for herbivores, omnivores, and carnivores. He already knew what he was going to order, but it was fun to skim through all the other options.

"What are you having?" Shepard asked without looking up from her own menu.

"As if you didn't know." Garrus was scrolling through the list of turian entrees, having finally exhausted his curiosity. Putting too much thought into what salarian  _slurmkash_  beetles might taste like was potentially enough to put him off his own meal, and he certainly didn't want to do that; especially not tonight, of all nights.

He stopped at 'curried  _clath'as,_ ' highlighting it with his talon and selecting his portion size and his preferred level of spiciness. "I haven't had curried  _clath'as_ in years." He set the menu down on the table and a server promptly whisked it away. "You know, you haven't told me how you knew it was my favourite."

Shepard looked as smug as a krogan with breeding rights. "I'll never tell. Well, not without some sort of fantastic incentive, anyway."

"I could tell you who brought the scale itch aboard."

Shepard pretended to consider it. "Tempting, but I'm already privy to that little tidbit of information."

Garrus leaned in, close enough that the tips of his mandibles almost brushed the curved shell of her ear. "I could tell you who I saw sneaking into Life Support a few nights ago in a most, uh, compromising position." He waggled his brow plates as he pulled back.

"Now, now, it's not really an incentive if you're talking about yourself. Always suspected you had a thing for Thane…"

"What? I… No. Just—eugh—no." He sputtered as she laughed.

"You're so fun to tease; you really are." Shepard patted his gloved hand affectionately.

Garrus was so focused on their conversation that he was almost startled by the blue arm of the server sliding in between them. The asari gently placed a bowl of delicately poached _clath'as_ —a river fish native to Palaven—swimming in a spicy yellow broth dotted with colourful chunks of root vegetables. The aroma took him immediately back to his mother's kitchen, swinging his legs against the counter as he'd watched her cook; her impossibly calm voice explaining every step as she chopped and measured out the ingredients for his father's favourite dish.

He dipped his large spoon into the bowl, gently separating a bite-sized piece of the fillet with the edge of it before scooping it up with a mouthful of broth. The combination of spices tingled on his tongue, growing hotter as he chewed. Shepard hadn't been kidding; this place definitely deserved its reputation for having the best  _clath'as_  he'd ever tasted outside of turian space.

"So, how is it?" Shepard was watching him expectantly—almost shyly, he would have said, if he hadn't known her as well as he did.

"Amazing. Thank you." He was tempted to reach his arm around her shoulders in a sort of hug, but wasn't sure if that was appropriate or not, so he settled for giving her his warmest smile instead. "I'm truly honoured that you would organize something like this for me."

She smiled back; her eyes warm. "It was my pleasure, big guy. I know I keep saying it, but I'm… really glad you're here."

It took him a moment to respond; the words unable to escape from his throat that had suddenly become a little too tight. "Likewise, Shepard. I never would have thought, a year ago, that I'd be sitting here with all these people…" He stopped to look around the table at everyone—at his friends—all lost in their own side conversations and their meals. "…That I'd be sitting here with you."

"Now, now, don't get all sentimental on me, Vakarian. Wait until we're both drunk at least."

He laughed, feeling a sense of ease; like a weight he hadn't even realized was there had dropped away. "Okay, but I'm going to hold you to that."

"Deal."

Shepard returned to her meal, some kind of green-skinned rolls filled with what appeared to be tiny white worms. He suppressed a shudder. At least they weren't moving. "What are you eating?

She popped one of the pieces into her mouth and sighed blissfully as she chewed and then swallowed. "Sushi. With asparagus and avocado. It's been forever since I've had anything even _resembling_  sushi, and these are heavenly. I may have to order another roll or two." She picked one up between two long sticks. "Want to try one? Nutritionally devoid, as far as your digestive system is concerned, but oh, so delicious."

"Uh… I'll pass." His subvocals rumbled with a refusal that would have been exceedingly impolite in turian conversation. "I, uh, wouldn't want to take any of yours, since you love them so much."

"Suit yourself." She devoured the proffered piece with gusto after smearing it with a grass-coloured paste and dipping it into a tiny bowl of brown liquid. "Eat, eat!" She gestured to his bowl with one of her stick utensils, simultaneously poking him in the hat with the other one. "The birthday boy shouldn't be eating food that's gone cold."

They ate in relative silence, each of them enjoying the rare opportunity for real food of decent quality, and contentedly listening to the conversations going on around them. Donnelly and Gabby had eyes only for each other—as always—even though they both appeared to be completely oblivious to the apparent connection between the two of them. Kelly and Grunt were talking around Miranda, who was stuck between them, alternately rolling her eyes and rather determinedly working her way through what must have been her second or third glass of wine. Joker was regaling Tali with a story from his flight school days, interspersed with Dr. Chakwas providing corrections to his various exaggerated claims.

He couldn't have asked for a better night. Garrus glanced over at Shepard, who was wearing the most ridiculous hat he'd ever seen, while eating revolting, worm-filled, sushi nuggets; Shepard, who met his eyes and smiled.

Yep. Best night ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, to my wonderful friend and beta, Josie Lange. You're the best!
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to read and/or leave a comment. I appreciate the support more than you know. :)


	3. Gifts

As the remnants of their meals were being cleared away, Shepard excused herself and disappeared for a few minutes, returning with a self-satisfied smirk that Garrus knew all too well.

"What are you up to? Wait, don't tell me. I'm guessing I don't want to know."

"Oh, you'll know soon enough."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Shepard winked at him and grabbed her glass before climbing up to stand, once again, on her chair. "Can I get everyone's attention?" She'd used her 'Commander' voice, and the conversation around the table immediately dropped away. "Excellent. Now, it's not every day that our illustrious Officer Vakarian turns thirty. So, I think it's only fitting that he gets some kick-ass presents. What do you guys think?"

Her words were greeted with cheering and clapping; almost enough to make his neck blush faintly blue.

Two of their asari servers re-appeared, both of them wearing forced smiles and matching party hats covered in glittery, prancing elcor. From the looks on their faces, he hoped that Shepard was planning on leaving them a larger than average gratuity when their night was over.

Each one carried several gift bags and brightly-wrapped packages, which they brought towards him, arranging them artfully on the table in front of him before bowing stiffly and fleeing the room as quickly as politeness would allow.

Shepard flopped back down into her chair. "Well, go on. Open them up!"

"You didn't have to do all this, Shepard." He rubbed the plating at the back of his neck, feeling slightly unsettled at being the focus of everyone's attention.

Her voice was pitched just low enough for him to hear. "Yeah. I did." Then, for the other's benefit, she added, in a louder voice, "Presents are for  _opening_ , big guy, so get cracking!"

He met her eyes for a moment—it meant more than he could ever express in words to have her here—before rubbing his hands together in a somewhat forced show of eagerness. "All right, which one should I open first? How about this one?" Garrus selected a blue gift bag with a handle that was covered in a froth of curled silver ribbons.

"Oh, that's from me!" Tali set her drink down enthusiastically, slopping a little on the tablecloth as she shifted in her chair in order to see better.

It took more than a few minutes to untangle first the card that was attached, and then the bows that were preventing him from actually  _opening_  the bag—to the amused cat calls of some of the Engineering crew—but, he finally succeeded and peeked inside. There were two medium-sized boxes tucked in side by side, and Garrus recognized the branding on them immediately.

"Some new hardware for your omni-tool," she said expectantly as he pulled them out for everyone at the table to see. "You were talking about trying to overclock the internal processor a while back; hopefully, you haven't picked up the latest nano-fusion cooling modules yet." She sighed with an emotion bordering on lust and envy. "They're supposed to be amazing."

"No, I hadn't." He set the boxes down on the table beside the mound of other presents. "Thanks, Tali."

"You're welcome. I'm glad you like them!"

He moved on to the next one, a thin flexible package wrapped in holofoil wrapping paper. Unlike the one from Tali, there was no card to indicate who it was from. Inside was… Spirits, he could feel his throat blooming into a shade of azure that would have made an asari look washed out in comparison. He considered trying to hide it—somehow—but, it was too late. It's not like everyone hadn't been watching him open it. Maybe he could surreptitiously slide it under the table while quickly opening something else… If he—

"What is it? Come on, you have to show the gifts to everyone. It's tradition." Donnelly's voice cut through the crowd, and Garrus not so secretly wished for a thresher maw to appear at his feet and swallow him whole.

Best to just get it over with.

It's not like he'd bought it for himself, after all… Hopefully, they wouldn't think that this had been a  _thoughtful_  gift, like Tali's had been; something he'd mentioned about wanting…

"Show it! Show it! Show it!" Of course, it had to be Joker instigating the chant.

With a sigh that extended from his exhaled breath into a rumbling growl in a register too low to be distinguished by most non-turian species, Garrus unclenched his hands from the edges of the glossy magazine. "For the record, I had nothing to do with this." He turned it around to display the cover to the rest of the table, holding it up high enough to obscure most of his face. He didn't want to have the reactions of the crew branded into his memory; Shepard's, in particular.

There was sudden silence.

An awkward cough that might have been his own.

Joker broke the awestruck hush first with a long whistle. "Gee, Commander, I had no idea you could even  _get_  into that position. Or, that Garrus was so well hung."

The table erupted into laughter while Garrus struggled to control his embarrassment and failed miserably. The magazine was a Fornax vanity print—not cheap; whoever had staged this practical joke clearly had too many credits and nothing to spend them on. Although he'd only seen the cover, he was sure that the rest of the publication had been altered in the same way, with digitally manipulated images of himself and who knew who else inserted seamlessly into the pornographic romps displayed on every page. The cover was of him and Shepard and, while he'd known humans were supposed to be flexible, he'd never thought that they'd be able to get their legs to—No, he wasn't going there. Definitely not.

Someone across the table—likely Joker, again—pulled the magazine from his hands and, soon, it was going around the table amidst giggles and titters. Garrus was positive that Kelly's eyes couldn't  _get_  any bigger, only to be proven wrong when she reached the centerfold that fluttered out, unfolding nearly all the way to the floor. She was murmuring 'wow' over and over again in a kind of shocked litany.

He was never going to live this down.

"Well, are you going to open something else?" Garrus turned on instinct; he hadn't really wanted to face Shepard right now. Was she embarrassed? Did she think he thought about her in  _that_ way? To his relief, she was smiling.

"I don't know, after that last one, I'm starting to think that I should open the rest of these in private. With the doors to the main battery sealed. And locked. And maybe even welded shut."

"Are you saying you need some… private time with your gifts?" She was teasing him—he knew she was—but that didn't make him any less flustered.

"What? No, that's not what I meant. I mean, I—"

Shepard laughed, warm and full. "Go on; open another one and everyone will forget all about it. I don't think whoever got that for you is about to fess up anytime soon. Hard to believe they sprung for an actual printed copy… that couldn't have been cheap."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, just for her. The crescendo of murmured side conversations was loud enough that they weren't likely to be overheard, regardless. "I just didn't want you to think that I'd… ever, uh, talked about you like that. That wouldn't be respectful, or honourable, and I don't think I could—"

She interrupted him by rapping his hand lightly with the rolled up magazine that had now made its way around to her. "Garrus. It's okay. It was just a joke, and I know there's no way you had anything to do with it."

"Thanks, Shepard." His shoulders perceptibly relaxed and his mandibles dropped down from where they had been pulled tightly against his face.

Shepard unrolled the magazine, flipping casually through the first few pages, and Garrus couldn't help noticing that  _all_  the images appeared to be of him and Shepard. He made a concerted effort to avert his eyes, and nearly succeeded.

"There's no way this is me." Shepard turned over another page with her fingertip. "My boobs are nowhere near that size. My ass is nicer than hers though, don't you think?" She flashed the page in his direction and he couldn't keep himself from looking; his mandibles fluttering without conscious thought. Shepard gave him a mischievous grin in response, eyeing him almost hungrily. "Although, if you're really that size and that shape, then I may need to break every Alliance regulation that's ever been drilled into me and seduce you. Hell, you're not even Alliance, so that  _definitely_  makes you fair game." She paused. "Hell, I guess _I'm_  not Alliance any more either... Maybe I should have tried harder this morning." She winked at him.

"Shepard…"

"You know what makes you so fun to annoy, Garrus?" She rolled the magazine back up and tapped him lightly on his nasal ridges.

"What?"

"The fact that you  _get_  annoyed. Didn't having a younger sister teach you anything?" She dangled the magazine in front of his face until he snatched it back, stuffing it into the bag with his new omni-tool mods.

"Here." Shepard leaned across him to pick one of the other gifts out the pile. "Try this one. I can guarantee this one is safe."

It was; a bottle of turian-made brandy of a deep amber colour was nestled in soft packing material inside a heavy lidded box. It certainly went a long way towards making him feel less flustered. Worst case scenario, he could just chug the bottle and he would, very rapidly, become too drunk to care.

"That's from me," Dr. Chakwas said, smiling, before she turned her head to address Shepard. "Oh, and don't think that I've forgotten that bottle of Serrice Ice brandy that I owe you, Commander. It should be delivered and on board the Normandy before we depart tomorrow."

It took Garrus nearly thirty minutes to open the rest, and he was surprised by the thoughtfulness of the remaining gifts. Despite the amount of time that he spent holed up in the main battery with his calibrations and optimizations, the crew evidently knew him fairly well. There were some new types of ammunition for his sniper rifle—illegal everywhere but here on Illium, a behind-the-scenes documentary on the filming of 'Fleet and Flotilla,' a pair of custom-made discharge couplers that theoretically would increase the efficiency of the Thanix Cannon's firing stabilizers, as well as a variety of other mods and technical odds and ends.

Joker had bought him a yearly membership to Fornax's 'Hanar Hottie of the Month' subscription service, though he steadfastly denied having anything to do with the  _other_  edition. No one was taking credit for it, in fact, but Garrus had already made the decision that he would find out who it was—those years in C-Sec  _had_  to be good for something—and make them pay in the most humiliating way he could think of… even if he didn't know what that was going to be yet.

When he'd finished unwrapping, he'd received a gift from everyone but Shepard. Surely, she hadn't been the one to—

No. Not a chance. Maybe this whole night out was her present to him? He certainly wasn't about to be presumptuous and ask.

"Your gift from me is coming later. I hope you don't mind waiting." She nudged his elbow with her own as the asari swept in—still in their own ridiculous party hats— and began tidying up the mess of wrapping paper, bows, and glitter.

Garrus shook his head. "I don't mind at all. You really didn't have to get me something, too. Just this night is enough."

"Don't be silly. It's your birthday—your thirtieth birthday, no less—and I'm going to be nice to you whether you like it or not."

There was no sense in arguing with her. Even he knew that.

The lights suddenly began to dim, and Garrus couldn't help the instantaneous flare of panic that rose in him. Was this the prelude to some sort of attack? He sat up straighter, scanning the serving staff that waited on the room's periphery while keeping a close eye on the exit to the main dining room area. His hands rested over his concealed pistols; his muscles tense and ready. The only thing that kept him from springing to his feet was the fact that Shepard didn't seem at all alarmed by the situation.

It wasn't until the proprietress entered, bearing a huge platter, that he realized what was happening and the tension immediately ebbed away. A vague memory about human birth celebration customs flickered through his mind, proving that he had retained  _something_  from the compulsory human studies class he'd been forced to take during his Primary Instruction levels.

A huge cake—a sweet human confection that had been rapidly embraced by the galactic community—took up most of the platter; a multi-tiered tower decorated in cobalt blue sugar paste. The perimeter of each layer was ringed with small striped candles and, to his surprise as the proprietress approached, he could also see an intricate sculpture perched on top. A tiny turian in very familiar armour lay prone on the top-most layer, peering across the icing-laden landscape below; a rifle tucked up next to him.

Shepard began to sing, jolting him out of his thoughts. Around the table, other voices joined hers, singing what must have been a traditional human birthday song. As they sang, something niggled in the back of his brain. There was something odd about the music, although he couldn't seem to place what it was. Garrus had spent the past year surviving on instinct alone, and there was definitely something  _not right_. The song was nearly over by the time it dawned on him.

They were singing a human song, but the words  _weren't_  human. They were singing in the common urban dialect of Palaven—badly mangling it, in fact—but, he could still understand it. When they'd finished, Shepard whooped loudly and the others cheered.

"Make a wish and blow out the candles, big guy!"

Garrus looked over at Shepard—she was grinning wildly at him, how could he not grin back?— before turning and blowing out the candles. There were too many candles scattered around the entirety of the cake for him to have any kind of chance of getting them all out on only one exhale, but he did a decent job of extinguishing the ones directly in front of him; at least, he thought so.

Two other asari servers, their heads mercifully unadorned by party hats, arrived to relieve the proprietress of the platter; whisking the cake away to be sliced and served. A third server approached as Shepard was complimenting the proprietress on the quality of the food, this one bearing a goblet filled two-thirds full with a dark indigo liquid. The proprietress nodded at her as she came close, excusing herself from the conversation with Shepard to carefully pick up the glass.

She set it down at his table setting and gave him a warm smile. "A glass of our finest dextro ice wine, made from  _uvae_  fruit that are picked just after the first frost has frozen the fruit on the vine. The fruit must be harvested by hand within scant hours of freezing. This vineyard makes the finest one I've ever tasted. Compliments of a mutual friend who asked me to tell you that she will always be grateful for your timely arrival on Therum." She bowed deeply, to him, and then to Shepard.

Once she'd left, Shepard leaned over. "Liara sure knows how to impress."

"I'll say." He'd heard of these sorts of wines, but they were incredibly expensive, and he'd certainly never tasted one. He took a small sip, letting the rich, condensed sweetness roll over his tongue. The liquid was almost velvety and, even with the limited amount he'd had, the flavour seemed to permeate his palate.

"How is it?"

"Really amazing." He looked at the glass in awe. The portion they'd served him must have cost Liara at least a twenty thousand credits, likely far more than that.

Thick slabs of cake were being placed in front of everyone and Garrus was surprised to see that his piece looked almost identical to Shepard's. She caught his puzzled expression; her own fork halfway to her mouth with a large frosting-covered morsel speared on the end of it. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. I just wasn't sure how we were eating the same thing."

"Oh! We're not!" Shepard set her fork down, the bite uneaten. "I had them make a dextro version of the same cake—much smaller of course—for you and Tali."

Garrus found himself wishing that he could brush his forehead against hers; to show her the depth of the affection he was feeling in that moment. His subharmonics were resonating with it but, of course, she wasn't able to pick up on those either. He had to settle for words, as inadequate as they were. "You know, I'm not sure what I've ever done to deserve this, but… thank you. If this is what birthdays are like, I may have to celebrate mine every year."

"Well," Shepard picked up her fork and nibbled a little with a happy sigh, "in all fairness, this is kind of a special birthday. First of all, because you're alive. Secondly, because  _I'm_  alive. And, thirdly," she shoved the bite into her mouth and chewed, "humans like nice round numbers. So, don't expect anything this elaborate again until you turn forty."

He snorted, taking a bite of his own. "Duly noted."

Garrus ate slowly, savouring the balance between the sweet richness of the wine and the slightly bitter  _fere'cacao_ powder that had been used to flavour the cake. The room was comfortably warm and everyone, even Miranda and Jack, seemed to be having a good time. Shepard's cheeks had taken on a hint of pink and wisps of her hair had fallen from her ponytail to curl around her face. He'd never had a thing for humans but, Spirits help him, he was starting to wonder if he was developing a thing for  _her_.

Once he'd finished his cake, and most of the others had finished their pieces as well, Shepard stood up. "All right! One last thing to do before we move on from this lovely establishment and get horribly shit-faced." She seized her own mostly empty glass and raised it in the air. "A toast, to our friend and comrade, Garrus 'Sweet Cheeks' Vakarian."

A cheer went up as everyone clapped, although there was one call of, "Woo! You show'em, Sweet Cheeks!" from Donnelly's direction of the table.

"Hang on... Need to do this properly." Shepard turned and climbed up to stand on her chair for the third time that evening. "There. That's better." She raised her glass up again. "I've never been a big one for speeches, so I'm going to keep this short and sweet."

"More time for drinking!" Joker called out, resulting in a loud chorus of cheers and laughter. "I knew there was a reason I liked you, Commander."

"You mean besides staring at my ass?"

Joker leaned back in his chair, casually folding his arms across his chest. "Now, that's uncalled for. I've told you, on more than one occasion, that you were welcome to check out  _my_  assets any time you liked. Fair's fair, after all."

"Yeah… I think I'll pass. No offence."

"None taken. The offer still stands."

Shepard shook her head. Lifting her glass up yet again, she tilted her head down to meet Garrus' eyes as she spoke. "Here's to the best sniper I've ever known, and the most loyal friend I've ever had. Don't know what I'd do without you… and I don't ever want to find out. Cheers, big guy."

He raised his own glass to touch hers while continuing to hold her gaze. He hoped she knew how much she meant to him. "Cheers, Shepard," he whispered back, and then they both drank. To a connoisseur of fine wines, it would have been a heart-wrenching travesty to watch him belt back the remaining quarter glass of  _uvae_  ice wine; yet, he did it all the same.

Shepard nearly leapt down from her chair and addressed the table. "You've all got about ten minutes while I go pay and figure out where we're headed next. So, finish up and get ready to go." She gently pulled off the party hat that was still perched at a jaunty angle on her head, leaving it on top of the empty plate that now held nothing but cake crumbs and swipes of sugar paste.

She turned to him and smiled. "You can take yours off, too. Thanks for being such a good sport about everything."

Garrus shrugged, his mandibles widening as he returned her smile. "I trust you." Aside from the magazine that was still crushed in the bottom of one of his gift bags full of presents, it had been a thoroughly enjoyable evening so far.

"That means a lot." She paused for a moment, appearing about to say something and then changing her mind. "Right. Let me go settle the bill and then we can be on our way."

"Sure." He nodded, watching her go as she sauntered off to the front of the restaurant while the rest of them were quickly polishing off the last of their drinks and mouthfuls of cake. Garrus gathered up the two large bags that all his presents had been bundled up into… He could leave the magazine behind, but then someone else was going to find it. Someone else, looking at those pictures… No, it was far better for everyone involved if he took it with him and then he could properly dispose of it on the ship.

Definitely the best course of action.

He took off his party hat, careful to not snag the elastic string on his mandibles, and turned it over in his hands as he looked at it. The turians on it actually  _were_  sort of cute… After a moment of hesitation, he tucked it neatly into the gift bag that was slightly less full.

After another moment of hesitation—a much longer one this time—he gathered up the hat that Shepard had worn, too, which now lay discarded on her plate. He put that one in the bag as well; nesting it inside the other hat in a way that would hopefully prevent them from being crushed.

He wasn't a good turian, as his father had been so fond of reminding him, but, tonight, of all nights, he was more than okay with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, to the wonderful Josie Lange for taking time out of her busy schedule to give this a whack with the beta stick.
> 
> Thank you to everyone reading for all your support! :)


	4. Welcome to Paradise

The night club that the proprietress of Morbo's had recommended was called 'Paradise,' and Garrus was struck by how fitting a name that was as soon as they had all strolled in through the rippled glass doors at the club's entrance. Lush vegetation grew in rectangular marble planters, and the sweet aroma of flowers—distinctly  _not_  the typical stale reek of alcohol and too many bodies pressed together—permeated the air. An artificial night sky hung impossibly high overhead, complete with a full complement of glittering stars and an enormous crescent moon flanked on either side by two smaller ones. Tall, purple-leaved vines, studded with phosphorescent blossoms, curled around several metallic columns near the entrance, and he could see more of them scattered throughout the central room. A huge spiral staircase with a thin band of glowing light to highlight the edges of each step led up to the next floor.

It felt oddly like they had been whisked off into a storybook. He couldn't help remembering one of Solana's favourites—how many times had he read that one to her?—about a girl who'd found her way to another world through the closet in her bedroom. It certainly felt like  _he'd_  stepped through some sort of strange magical portal without realizing it.

Yet, at the same time, the incessant throb of music pulsed through the air; loud enough that he could feel the beat of it reverberating in his chest. This floor was arranged like a cocktail lounge, with delicate glass tables scattered throughout. There were two bar areas on opposite sides, but they had clearly been designed to blend in seamlessly with the décor, as they were only noticeable if one was deliberately looking for them. It was busy, but not unbearably so, and he could see numerous asari servers—all dressed in the same form-fitting golden dresses—weaving their way through the crowds.

When he was finally able to pull his eyes away, he was relieved to see that the rest of their group were apparently just as floored by the whole spectacle as he was.

"Now this," Shepard looked around appreciatively while nodding, " _this_  is what I call swanky."

Joker made a strange whistling noise that started at a high pitch and then descended rapidly into a lower one. "I'll say. I mean… damn." He tilted back the brim of his cap as he stared upward at the false sky above them. "You know, when it was  _my_  birthday, no one even bothered to get me a card."

" _Bosh'tet_." Tali folded her arms across her chest and somehow managed to project a glare through the smoky faceplate of her helmet. "You didn't tell anyone it was your birthday until after it was over. Then, you spent the next week whining that no one had done anything for you."

Joker brought a hand up to straighten his cap's brim back into its customary position. "Ouch. You're a lot meaner than I remember."

Tali leaned in menacingly. "Yes, and I still have a shotgun."

"And… point taken." Joker edged away from her as she shook her head and laughed.

" _Bosh'tet_."

A smiling asari in a dazzling golden dress approached them. "Welcome to Paradise. My name is Thalia, and I'll be looking after you tonight. Are you interested in reserving one of our private rooms, or would you like me to direct you to our available seating that can accommodate a group of your size?"

Garrus could see from the glint in her eyes that Shepard was seriously considering the private room, but she caved in to Miranda's silent glowering stare with an exaggerated sigh. "Whatever you have available is fine. What do you have that's closer to the dance floor?" He was a little surprised that Shepard had given in so easily—she never seemed to let anyone sway her once she'd made up her mind about something, unless they could pull out a logical argument that even  _she_  couldn't find a flaw in. Maybe this was merely a feint on Shepard's part; another move in a larger game happening beyond the borders of his own awareness.

"Let me see what we have available." Thalia glanced at the stylish omni-tool on her arm; her fingers dancing over the holo-screen. "There's a corner booth upstairs that should suit your needs perfectly. This way." She navigated them through the crowds to the wide staircase that easily dominated half of the back wall of the room.

Now that he was closer to them, Garrus realized that the stairs were actually pressure-sensitive display screens, likely constructed out of a reinforced pico-crystalline structure to withstand the constant stress. With each step they took as they climbed up towards the second floor, the surface of the stairs rippled like water. It was more than a little disorienting, and he had to wonder how many drunken patrons had fallen down them. Or thrown up all over them. Maybe both… and he hoped not simultaneously.

The music grew louder as they reached the top of the stairs and then the second floor lay before them. In terms of design, it was similar to the lower level, with the sky still a swath of glittering darkness above them and columns twined with flowering vines scattered about. Most of the room was taken up by a large dancing area with mirrored tiles on the floor that reflected both the sky and the undulations and gyrations of the dancers. Booths with plush couches and oddly contoured tables filled the rest of the available space, with the exception of another staircase at the back. That one, presumably, led to the private rooms that their server had mentioned earlier.

Thalia stopped in front of what appeared to be the only vacant booth in the place. It was enormous—evidently made with large parties like theirs in mind—with multiple couches and tables arranged in an artful geometric design that also maximized the number of people that could sit there comfortably. The booth had some small degree of privacy, with a half wall on either side of it acting as a sort of partition from the rest of the room. "Will this be suitable for your needs?"

Shepard nodded at the asari and then fumbled in her pocket for a moment before handing over a small credit chit. "It's perfect. Thanks. Please bill the full tab for everyone here to this." Once the server had given them all a sweeping bow, Shepard turned to the group. "All right! Ground rules before we start. First things first, drinks are on the Illusive Man tonight!"

Garrus could almost feel Miranda's eye twitching from where he was standing, although everyone else let out a happy whoop.

"Second, this  _is_  Garrus' birthday after all, so let's all do our best to make sure he has a great night." One of the engineers gave him an affectionate slap on the back as a few others turned to him and grinned. "Third, can we at least  _try_  to make it through the night without someone doing something stupid?" Garrus chuckled, unable to keep himself from remembering the 'noodle' incident back on Tuchanka. Thankfully, they'd been amongst krogan; nearly every other race would have probably kicked them off the planet and never let them come back… Good times.

"Finally, I'm happy to announce that we'll be spending a few days here on Illium to restock our supplies and do some retrofits. I expect everyone to be back on the Normandy by 0900 hours, but Miranda or I will be sending out the full shore leave rotation schedule—assuming I'm not too horribly hung over to make one up anyway—shortly after that." She clapped her hands together. "I think that's everything. Now, I don't know about the rest of you but, if the Illusive Man is buying, then I'm drinking."

"Hear, hear!" Donnelly shouted. The man was already half in his cups already, leaning heavily on Gabby… not that she seemed to mind. When he caught Garrus watching him, he winked, with a pointed glance at Gabby. All right, maybe not as far gone as Garrus had thought.

They all jostled into their seats—Garrus was once again sandwiched between Shepard and Tali—and a few taps on the surface of the table brought up a holographic ordering terminal for each person. Garrus skimmed through the dextro drink options, not sure what to order. The wine from the restaurant had left him feeling warm and happy, and he didn't want to overdo it. There was a fine line between comfortably inebriated and utterly smashed, and he had no plans on crossing it.

Garrus finally settled on a whisky made from a grain that was native to Menae, one of Palaven's moons. While it was possible to grow the grain elsewhere, the whisky made from it lacked the distinctly smoky aftertaste that made it so appealing to the turian palate. The smokiness was the result of an interplay between the grain and a bacteria that was exclusive to Menae's soil, and, as a result, only the whisky made from the grain grown on Menae had the desired flavour. There was still a market for the other stuff, but that did nothing to reduce the prices that the upper tiers were willing to pay for the real thing.

It had been his mother's favourite—his father had always bought her a miniscule bottle of it every year on the anniversary of their bonding ceremony. She'd even bought Garrus his own bottle once, a week or so before he'd left for his first real military posting. They'd stayed up late into the night, long after Solana and his father had gone to bed, taking the tiniest of sips and staring up at the stars. Thinking of her… wasting away in a hospital with him so far away… His throat felt more than a little tight as he punched in his order with slightly shaking fingers.

Shepard smiled at him as he leaned back in his seat, the order terminal in front of him dimming and then vanishing. "Having a good night so far?"

Despite the memories overcrowding him at the moment, it was easy to smile back at her; his best friend and the only one he could truly count on in this whole screwed up universe. "It's been great."

"Good. I'm glad."

The first round of drinks arrived almost immediately, and Garrus was amazed at the amount of whisky in the heavy glass tumbler that was set before him. He hadn't paid much attention to the quantity or the price when he'd placed his order, and the volume here had to be easily five or six times the amount that had been in the bottles his father used to buy. He was rather absurdly relieved that Shepard wasn't footing the bill for this personally.

His thoughts abruptly shifted from his mother to the Illusive Man, the oblivious benefactor for this night of excess. As much as he distrusted the man and his entire organization, he couldn't deny that they'd done the one thing he couldn't have done; they'd brought Shepard back. They had somehow pulled off the impossible feat of bringing her back to life—of bringing her back to _him_ —and it was hard to shake the feeling that he owed them more than just his services as a gunnery officer. What would  _he_  have been willing to give them to bring her back, if they'd asked it of him?

He already knew the answer.

Anything. He would have given them anything.

"To the Illusive Man," he said as he raised his glass, noting Shepard's raised eyebrows. He'd managed to surprise her; a rare thing. He shrugged apologetically, trying to make it seem like an attempt at a joke. "Since he's paying and all."

"The Illusive Man," the others close enough to hear him chorused as well.

"And to Commander Shepard," he continued, before anyone had a chance to drink, "who kicked death in the quad and came back to tell about it."

"Commander Shepard!" Her name received a much more enthusiastic shout than the Illusive Man's, and the entire booth raised their glasses to her and drank. Garrus took a small sip, feeling the warmth of the whisky spread from his throat and into his chest. He couldn't bring himself to take a normal swallow; it felt too much like wasting it and he wanted it to last as long as possible.

A few members of the crew were already making their way over to the dance floor. Gabby was dragging Donnelly along by his arm, the two of them laughing, and Jack managed to look marginally less sullen as she stomped off towards the mass of dancers already pulsing along to the beat of the music. Kelly eagerly bounced off with Grunt in tow, finally abandoning a relieved-looking Miranda, and, not long after, two of the maintenance engineers—Mara and Allison?— managed to convince Tali to come with them; the three of them vanishing into the throng, arms interlocked and giggling like mad.

Shepard set her own drink down with an amused expression. "So, now what, big guy? You up for some dancing?"

"I… don't really dance, Shepard."

"I know." She elbowed him playfully. "I don't either—okay, I do occasionally, but really, really badly—as all of you are so fond of reminding me." She took a swallow of her drink, a bubbly brown concoction, and grinned. "At least we have each other."

"That we do. Cheers, Shepard." He clinked his glass lightly against hers and took another controlled sip of his whisky. At this rate, he would have to figure out a way to get the rest of his unfinished drink out of the club at the end of the night because he would have hardly even made a dent in it.

They sat in a companionable silence; their section of the table now empty except for the two of them. Together, they sipped their drinks, listening to snatches of passing conversation while watching the ebb and flow of the crowds. Donnelly was whispering something in Gabby's ear now, and they were standing very close together and no longer dancing.

"They're cute together."

Garrus chuckled, not surprised that they had both picked the couple out of the crowd. Shepard had an eye for detail on the battlefield that easily matched his own, which had led to some friendly competitiveness in the past. "Yeah, they are."

"You know, I completely understand the reason behind all the fraternization regs that the Alliance enforces, but there's something to be said for Cerberus' more relaxed take on things. After everything that happened with Saren and Sovereign, after everything we've seen so far of the Collectors, of the Reapers…" She shook her head, rubbing one fingertip around the rim of her glass. "We only get so much time, and it seems stupid to waste it. I… think I appreciate that a lot more now, strangely enough." She was quiet for a moment, staring into the depths of her drink. "As long as it doesn't interfere with their duties on the ship, why should it matter if those two," she gestured at Donnelly and Gabby, "find some comfort in each other?"

"To be honest, I've never been able to wrap my head around why your military has such strict rules against its people… blowing off steam once in a while." He leaned back against the seat and stretched his legs out into a more comfortable position beneath the table. "Putting sexually pent up soldiers into combat situations—especially where civilians could be involved… Well, I could see that getting ugly fast."

Shepard nodded. "They don't like to talk about it, but it happens. Not just civilians, either."

It took a minute for the implications of her statement to sink in. "You mean soldiers… mating with other soldiers without their consent."

"Yes. The penalties are harsh. Automatic dishonourable discharge. Incarceration. Restitution for the victim. Loss of voting privileges, restrictions on off-world travel…" She paused to take a long swallow, setting the glass down with an audible thunk. "Doesn't really mean fuck all to the person they violated, but it's better than nothing I guess." She sighed, tucking a bothersome strand of hair back behind her ear. It promptly sprung free again, although Shepard didn't appear to notice. "How does the turian military handle it? Fraternization between soldiers, I mean."

It was an effort to try and disguise how appalled he was. Mating with a turian female was impossible if she wasn't aroused—her genital plates would simply remain closed—and the thought of one human taking another against their will... His mandibles pulled inward towards his jaw, displaying notes of his agitation and disgust.

"Well, it's still expected to be an off duty thing and, just like with Cerberus, it can't interfere with your ability to work and perform as expected. If it becomes a problem, then the people involved are given the choice to terminate the relationship or request a transfer so that they're no longer working directly together. If the problems persist after the first warning, then both of them would be demoted to a lower tier and discharged from military service. A huge shame for both their families, often for generations." Garrus stopped to take another sip, a slightly larger one this time. "It's an extremely rare occurrence, thankfully."

Shepard sipped her drink thoughtfully, more than two thirds of it already gone. "So, is it a strictly casual thing, or is it acceptable to have an exclusive… pairing off? Partnership. Whatever you want to call it."

"It's usually casual for the first few years of service. Away from home for the first time, a lot of stress about performing well and moving up the ranks… It's a lot to deal with. After that, it depends. Exclusive pairings are permitted, again, as long as there isn't any detrimental impact to duties and performance. I'd say they're less common, though. Most turians don't want a permanent relationship until they've completed their service requirements."

"How about you?" Shepard asked softly. "You ever have anyone special?"

His heart fluttered a little in his chest, but he covered it up with a laugh. "Nah. I was too busy trying to not screw up. It was just something to ease the tension, more than anything."

Garrus looked out across the dance floor, his eyes picking out Donnelly and Gabby locked together in a slow and sensuous kiss as they swayed in time with the lazy rhythm of the music. He glanced over at Shepard, who was watching them, too, with a smile that struck Garrus as a little sad. "I hope they find some happiness tonight. A moment to look back on some day and be glad they took the chance when it was there in front of them." She touched her glass to his. "To living in the moment."

"To living in the moment." In the back of his head, in the dark recesses of his subconscious mind, Garrus couldn't help the sudden flare of an emotion he couldn't readily identify; a nervous, giddy sort of excitement combined with an adrenaline rush similar to the way he felt in the moments before entering a combat situation.

"And easing tension," Shepard added with a chuckle. "For Ken and Gabby, anyway. I wonder who else we'll see pair off before the night is through."

"Indeed. To easing tension." He drank, as did Shepard, although her glass was now empty and his was mostly full. He still felt oddly nervous, falling back on humour to disguise his unease. With a deliberate purring rumble to his subharmonics, he leaned back and pointedly draped his arm over the back of her seat. "What are you drinking, hot stuff? Can I buy you another one of those?"

To his delight, Shepard laughed—rich and deep. "Hot stuff', huh? Well, as long as you don't call me that on duty, I'm game. Do turian women actually fall for those cheesy pick-up lines?"

His mandibles flared wide in a huge grin. "No, not really, but I've never really had to rely on pick-up lines. I mean, look at me. Who needs cheesy pick-up lines when you've got a body like this?"

That made her laugh again. "Very true. I'm sure you've got girls falling at your feet."

"Nah." He shook his head amiably and took a sip of his drink. "Not really interested these days." When she looked at him questioningly, he continued. "Too busy saving the universe."

"You and me, both, big guy. You and me, both." Shepard raised her glass to her mouth, only belatedly realizing that it was still empty.

"Now," Garrus reached over and plucked the glass from her hand, "since I'm feeling so generous tonight—and since it's my birthday and all—let me buy you another drink. With the Illusive Man's money. But, we can pretend it's coming out of the stipend he pays me, so it's like I'm buying it for you."

Shepard looked hesitant, staring at the empty glass in his hand as if she was considering snatching it back and, even in the dimmer lighting of the club, he could see that her cheeks had gone slightly pink. He easily picked up on the moment when she seemed to give in; her shoulders squaring for a split second before her body language relaxed into something more casual. Shepard balanced her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands as she stared up at him for a moment. "All right. You've won me over with your seductive turian charms. You can buy me a drink."

It was his turn to laugh. "For a beautiful woman like you, I'll even buy you more than one. Hell, having seen the damage you can do with an SMG, I'll buy you as many as you want." He swiped a finger over the panel set into the table in front of him to bring up the holographic ordering terminal. "So, what are you drinking? Or, did you want something else?"

Shepard's typical confidence seemed to falter once more. "I'm… uh, drinking… root beer."

Root beer, root beer… He skimmed through the levo ales, but didn't see it. "Is that a drink or a brand? I can't find—" He looked up to see Shepard had buried her face in her hands. "Shepard? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she muttered through her fingers. "Try the non-alcoholic section."

He flicked back out to the main listings and selected the 'levo/non-alcoholic' subcategory. "Wait, you're not drinking?" he asked as he punched in the order for another root beer. "I don't think I've ever seen you  _not_  drink."

"Garrus, can you keep a secret?" She peeked out through her fingers at him. At his nod, she lowered her hands. "I don't drink in these situations. These," she struggled to find the right words, "these, sort of off duty, off-ship, lots of crew, shore leave situations. Off duty or not, these are all still  _my_  people, under my command. If something happens that shouldn't… If things go bad, for whatever reason, I need to be ready for it."

His mind was still reeling a little. Not that it had been  _that_  shocking of a revelation, but he'd honestly never guessed. He'd always prided himself on his observation skills—something that had served him well during his C-Sec days—and he was the tiniest bit annoyed at himself that this had slipped by him. "I had no idea."

She smiled wryly. "Well, if I was able to fool you, then I'm sure no one else has picked up on it either."

"But… your terrible dance moves… the 'noodle' incident…"

"All sober. Sorry to disappoint."

They sat without speaking for a minute as Garrus let this new bit of information about Shepard sink in. It hadn't escaped him that she'd trusted  _him_  enough to tell him the truth, and that made his chest feel almost as warm as the whisky he was drinking. "Wait… What about that drinking contest you had with Wrex on the SR-1?"

"That one was real. Ugh." Shepard made a face. "Almost enough to make me swear off ryncol permanently. I can still taste it." She shuddered.

Garrus frowned, his brow plates drawing in closer together. "But, you just said you didn't…?"

Their server slid by, dropping off another glass filled with brown, bubbly liquid and collecting the old one. Shepard took a swallow and set the glass back down before looking at him. "No, I said I don't drink  _off_  the ship when I'm off duty but still responsible for people. Off duty and  _on_  the ship is another matter entirely." She grinned, poking him in the chest with the tip of her finger for good measure. "I beat Wrex fair and square, and don't you forget it."

Garrus took another sip of his own drink, still enjoying the smokiness that lingered on his tongue. "So, the difference is…?"

Shepard folded her hands in front of her and leaned back comfortably against the plush back of the seat, nearly resting her head against his arm that was still stretched across the back of the seat. "On the ship, everyone is accounted for. Safe. There are others on duty when I'm not who can handle emergencies, and Dr. Chakwas or any of the other medical staff could sober me up completely in less than a few minutes if it was required."

"Makes sense. So, why bother with the pretense then?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I think it helps morale for everyone to see me like one of them. But, I  _can't_ be. It's just… easier to pretend. It's still fun to be here, having a night out with the crew. I like knowing that everyone's having a good time, but knowing that they're safe, too. I've got their backs." She glanced over at the dance floor, her eyes picking out each member of their team before coming back to rest on his. "They don't need to know."

"You know, Shepard, every time I think I know you, you manage to surprise me. You're…" He stopped, thinking about what he wanted to say and the best way to say it without overstepping himself. "You're a good person," he said quietly. "They don't know how lucky they are to have you as their Commander."

Shepard waved her hand dismissively.

"No, I mean it."

Her eyes were warm—quite… attractive, he was surprised to find himself thinking—as she studied his face. "I know. Thanks."

She'd edged a little closer to him as they'd been talking, to make the conversation easier to manage with the thudding music dominating the background noise, and Garrus suddenly found himself rather acutely aware of how close they really were. If he were to slide his leg over just a fraction, it would be brushing against hers…

No, he was being stupid; getting carried away by possibilities and not paying enough attention to reality. He could almost feel his father staring disapprovingly; shaking his head over whatever preposterous ideas had entered his head  _now_. This was Shepard, his friend—his Commander. She was human;  _definitely_  not interested in turians, and  _definitely_  not interested in him. Spirits, he didn't even really know if he wanted her to be.

_Yes, he did._

The forcefulness of his inner voice booming back at him made him start. He…  _did_. He had always liked her, found her easy to talk to; a good—no, his best—friend. But, now, there was something more there, buzzing around in the back of his brain. There was no point in trying to pull off the lie when he was only trying to fool himself. This train of thought led him inevitably back to the horribly embarrassing magazine that was still buried in the bottom of one of his gift bags. With a growl low enough that he didn't think she would be able to hear it, he took a large swallow of his drink; relishing the intense burn that simultaneously seared and numbed his throat. At this point, he wasn't sure if the alcohol was making things worse or better.

"Garrus? You okay?" He realized that Shepard was watching him with a look of concern. "You seemed… far away there for a minute. Is everything all right?" Her thigh touched his as she leaned in and he froze, waiting for her to pull away, but she didn't.

He was tempted to raise his hand, to trace a talon slowly over the curve of her cheek bones and down the smoothness of her jaw. Not that he would, but it filled him with an odd sort of happiness to be sitting close enough to her that he  _could_. "Yeah, I'm okay. More than okay. Just… thinking."

"Want to share?"

"Nothing much to share." Garrus shrugged, giving her a small widening of his mandibles. "This is just… nice. Being here… with you, I mean." Had that been too much? "I mean, this night. Everything."

Shepard bumped her arm against his affectionately. "It's nice being here with you, too, big guy. We haven't had as much time to talk lately; I know you've been busy with all the challenges of integrating the Thanix Cannon into our existing hardware." She took a gulp of her drink, as if she wasn't sure if she should continue. "But, I've missed you."

"I'm sorry; I know I've been distracted. It's been a more difficult project than I thought it would be, and I want everything to go right."

"I know what you mean. I was just, well, worried… after everything that happened with Sidonis." She looked away again, over at the crowd on the dance floor that was still a swaying mass of people. "I thought that you might still be angry with me and you didn't want to say anything."

Had she really thought that he'd been avoiding her deliberately? Sure, he'd been furious at first, but his anger had died away weeks ago, replaced by an odd feeling of acceptance. Now that he thought about it, it had been days since Sidonis' name had even entered his thoughts. "What? No! I was upset at first, but… I know letting him go was the right thing to do. I haven't been trying to avoid you."

Shepard let out a relieved sigh. "I'm glad to hear you aren't mad. That wasn't an easy decision for me, either; letting him walk away when I knew how much you wanted to watch him pay for what he'd done… to you, to your team." Her eyes found his once more. "But, I didn't want his death to destroy you, too. The satisfaction of killing  _him_  wasn't worth losing  _you_."

Spirits help him; he wanted her  _closer_ , wanted to…

Shepard's focus changed in a heartbeat from soft and open to almost predatory, her head swiveling back to the dance floor. Her voice was a low murmur with a hard edge beneath. "Do those guys look like trouble to you?"

He followed her gaze, his eyes catching on the four krogan that were picking their way, slowly and deliberately, through the mob of dancers. They seemed to look directly at their table and then, without a word, fanned out into the crowd. "Yes," he said, trying to keep at least one of them in his sight.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Shepard nod. "Let's go. Feel like dancing?"

"I do now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, Josie Lange, for her always helpful advice. This chapter is so much better thanks to your suggestions.
> 
> Thank you as well to everyone who has taken the time to read this story. Your comments brighten my day so very much and I'm grateful for your support. :)


	5. So, Four Krogan Walk into a Bar...

Shepard slid smoothly out of the booth, and Garrus was right behind her. He wasn't unarmed at least; in lieu of the fact that a rifle was completely impractical to carry around on these sorts of occasions, he was a mean shot with a pistol as well. After leaving C-Sec to join the Normandy crew the first time around, he'd made a point of requisitioning two Karpov pistols—slightly better versions of the ones he'd used at C-Sec—just in case.

They were still the ones he had now, concealed in holsters that rested against his hip bones. He really should replace them at some point; the technology was a little dated, and he could certainly afford something that did more damage and had substantially better accuracy ratings. But, these were familiar— _his_  now—and they'd been one of the few things he'd kept when he'd left his old life behind and set foot on Omega.

Garrus was sure Shepard was armed, too—this was  _Shepard_ , after all—although, in all fairness, a good number of the patrons here were probably carrying concealed weapons as well. As they strolled forward, he couldn't help continuing to run the odds through in his head. His stint as Archangel was still too close to the surface of his memories, and the habits that had become essential to his continued survival hadn't yet faded. He took it all in; every detail of the environment around them, the oblivious dancers, the two krogan he could see and the two he couldn't.

It hadn't escaped his thoughts that they were on Illium—of course; the worst possible place for this sort of situation to be going down. While weapons were permitted, and no one had even bothered to check them when they'd entered the club, actually  _drawing_  them was another matter entirely. In a lot of ways, Illium was worse than Omega… Slaves, drugs, banned weapons and technology; they were all bought and sold openly here. Sure, the scum looked prettier, hidden behind smiling, duplicitous asari faces and luxury high-rises; but, beneath the surface, it was just as dirty, if not more so. Somehow, he found himself preferring Aria's way of doing things, with an in-your-face, flaunting sort of honesty.

So, their weapons were useless, except as a last resort, but it meant that the krogan's weapons were useless, too. That left them with hand-to-hand and threats if it came down to a confrontation and, between him and Shepard, he felt confident that they had that covered as well. It would still be two against one in close combat, but they'd faced worse odds.

Together, Garrus and Shepard wove through the crush of dancers. He could certainly see what had piqued Shepard's attention about these guys. The way they moved, the way they were reading the room;  _something_  was happening and he was willing to bet that he wasn't going to like what it was. They had singled them out and, whether it was Archangel or Shepard they were looking for, he wasn't going to make it easy for them.

Shepard was walking slightly ahead of him as they trailed after the pair in their sights, and he let himself fall behind enough to cover her back as well as to keep a watch out for the other two. It was difficult and disorienting, attempting to navigate through the throngs of dancers and pulsing lights, and the combination of the wine from dinner and his recent whisky wasn't making his head feel any clearer. He'd hoped they might run into Tali, but they weren't that lucky; the only crew members he saw were all from engineering and completely unsuited to provide additional backup in this sort of situation.

They reached the end of the dance floor's mirrored tiles just to see their two krogan vanishing up the staircase that led to the next floor above them where the club's private rooms were probably located. Shepard stopped, standing just at the edge of the crowd and swaying enough to the beat of the music that she wouldn't stand out. When he was close enough, she tugged at his sleeve and stretched up to speak directly into his ear canal. "Might as well head back to the table. We don't know what we'd be walking into, and this might be trouble that has nothing to do with us."

He had to agree. Following after them would be a risk, and they didn't even know for sure that these krogan wanted anything to do with them. As much as his instincts said they did, there was no sense putting themselves into danger needlessly. "Agreed."

"Shepard!"

They both turned to see Jack stomping through the crowd with Grunt weaving along after her; a goofy grin plastered across his face. "Battlemaster! It's good to see you having a good time! Are you having a good time? I'm having a verrrry good time."

Jack cut him off. "Shepard, can you do something about him? I don't know why he won't leave me the fuck alone when he's hammered, but it's getting really fucking annoying."

"I'll take him off your hands if you'll do something for me." Shepard leaned over and patted Grunt on the arm, although her eyes didn't leave Jack's.

"Fuck.  _Anything_." Jack blew out an exasperated breath.

"Keep an eye on the stairs here for the next little while. Let me know if you see two krogan, both in battle armour that doesn't look like its ever seen combat."

"Sure. I can do that." She ran her hands over her nearly bare head. "I'll grab a drink and keep an eye on things. I'm done with the shitty music they're playing anyway."

As Jack snagged a passing server to order another drink, Shepard looped her arm in Grunt's. "Come on; let's get you back to the tables."

Grunt looked confused, a frown creasing his plated forehead. "But, I'm not ready to go yet."

"We're not going back to the ship, just back to the booth," Shepard explained slowly. She was already pulling him gently into motion, and Grunt hadn't appeared to realize yet that they were walking.

Garrus let himself fall back once more, scanning the people around them, but there was no sign of the other pair of krogan that they'd seen with the first two, and he didn't like it. Sure, it  _could_  just be a coincidence that they had looked pointedly at their table, but he didn't believe in coincidences any more. Shepard was continuing to coax Grunt in the direction of their booth, but it was slow going as the krogan kept stopping every few steps to ask where Jack was. Garrus shook his head, wishing they would run into Tali, Miranda, Kelly—anyone—who would take him off their hands.

Instead, he found himself suddenly flanked by the other pair of krogan, pressing into him from either side. "Fancy running into you here, Archangel." The taller of the two smirked; his voice gravelled and worn.

Garrus shrugged, seemingly indifferent, even though they'd pressed in close enough to prevent him from maneuvering away into the crowd. In fact, it might be only his imagination, but it felt as if the dancers surrounding them had closed in tighter around the three of them as well; shutting them off from view. "Should I know you? I think you have the wrong guy."

The tall one chuckled. "Don't worry. We'll have a chance to... get acquainted." Garrus felt the distinctive jab of a gun barrel poke into his side and it was an effort not to flinch. "But, our boss wants to have a little conversation first."

Garrus' mind skittered rapidly through his options. Shepard was ahead of him now, and preoccupied with Grunt, so he was on his own for the next few minutes at least. Getting at his own pistols would be a challenge, since his arms were effectively pinned to his sides, and he would be gambling that the shorter krogan wouldn't just immediately pull the trigger on the weapon that was currently digging into the edges of his chest plates. Not to mention that he was completely surrounded by civilians. The alcohol in his system wasn't helping matters, either; his balance was off just enough that he didn't fully trust his reflexes.

Dammit.

This was  _not_  how this night was supposed to end.

Given his options, Garrus elected for the one with the best odds. He stalled.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

The shorter one snorted, but didn't speak; once again leaving the taller of the pair to do the talking. "Nice try. Do you really think we're that stupid?" Garrus swallowed his retort, well aware that answering would probably not be the wisest move on his part. "You don't know who we are, and it doesn't matter, since your business isn't with  _us_. We're just here to deliver you… and clean up after." The tall krogan leered at him ominously and then squeezed in closer, crushing him between them, as they began to forcefully march him towards the edge of the dance floor on the far side of the room.

Garrus waited, letting them pull him along. As soon as they were free of the crowds, he would push forward—hopefully, in the direction they would be least likely to expect—and take out the shorter one with the weapon first. Jack would be there, too, he remembered with a trace of a grin, and Shepard shouldn't be far behind once she realized what was happening. Now, those were odds he would bet on.

Suddenly, the tall one crumpled to the ground with a muffled roar of pain. "I'm so sorry! Must've tripped. My bad." Shepard flashed Garrus a smile as the moaning krogan rolled about on the floor, gripping his knee; the lower half of his leg splayed out and bent at an unnatural angle. Garrus still hadn't quite gotten used to how much power and strength Shepard's new cybernetic implants had given her and, when applied to one of the weakest points of krogan anatomy, it was downright scary.

Strictly on instinct, Garrus ducked back; shoving the barrel of the gun away from his side and down towards the floor while holding on to the shorter krogan's wrist to prevent him from bringing the weapon back up again. He ignored the dancers that were shrieking and scrambling away from them, too focused on disarming the other krogan to care. He twisted the joint into a painful lock just as Shepard lifted her leg and kicked out one of his knees, too; the sickening snap of bone breaking was audible, even over the music. This one bellowed louder than the first, dropping his weapon as he toppled to the floor.

"I don't think you want to try that, do you?" He turned to see Shepard had drawn her own pistol and was staring down the taller krogan who was frozen in the act of reaching for his weapon.

Garrus reached down and scooped up the weapon the shorter one had dropped, levelling it at his own opponent. "You know, I expected more. You two should really consider changing your occupations."

"Pardon me for interrupting," a blast of blue biotics snatched the pistols from both of their hands, "but, this sort of behaviour is not permitted in this establishment." A formidable asari, clad in a tight golden jumpsuit, strode towards them. Her head was adorned with a series of jeweled bands that encircled the base of each of the arms of the crest that swept out from the surface of her head, and her cheeks and forehead were marked with an intricate pattern of swirling tattoos. Behind her were a handful of similarly attired asari, although they lacked the jeweled crest rings and facial markings of their leader; instead of jumpsuits, they wore some type of firm and flexible woven light armour—still gold in colour—made from a material that Garrus had never seen before. As well, unlike the asari who had spoken, these ones all carried weapons; top of the line assault rifles, there was no mistaking them.

Shepard didn't relax, remaining poised and wary; ready to spring into motion if it was required. Even the two krogan had gone silent. Garrus was suddenly aware of the fact that no one was moving. Everyone on this floor of the club was standing perfectly still, watching the scene unfold in front of them. The music continued to thump, the neon lights pulsing in perfect rhythm with the beat, lending an absurd feeling of normalcy to the whole tableau.

"These two were threatening my friend." Shepard inclined her head to indicate the pair of krogan on the floor.

"If you were feeling intimidated, the security group at Paradise would have been pleased to assist you," the jeweled asari said smoothly. Her voice carried a deceptive sense of calm, like the unmoving surface of a lake with a monster waiting in the depths below.

"We didn't have  _time_  to call for security." Shepard managed to keep the irritation mostly out of her tone, and Garrus doubted that few people, besides him, would have been able to pick up on it.

Garrus nodded in agreement. He resisted the urge to step closer to Shepard, knowing the reaction it was likely to bring. "This one," he gestured with a tilt of his head at the shorter krogan on the floor in front of him, "had a pistol jammed into my side."

"And, then the two of you had pistols pointed at them." The asari shrugged indifferently. "It doesn't matter to me either way. The four of you will be leaving now." She smiled. "Will you be requiring any assistance?"

The krogan stared blankly at the jeweled asari, eyes flicking between her and the armed squad standing with feigned casualness just behind her.

Shepard's shoulders dropped a few centimeters in submission; Garrus recognized the same tell from when they practiced hand to hand drills. She was also—and he would have put credits down on the fact with full confidence—completely and utterly furious.

"No, we don't need any help finding the exit." Shepard's jaw was clenched tight as she spoke, making the words sound clipped and sharp. She looked his way and nodded. "Garrus."

"Shepard." He met her gaze with a nod and steely look of his own. There was nothing they could do now but go. There was nothing to be gained by making a scene, as much as it frustrated him to leave without knowing who had sent these two in the first place.

Shepard turned and marched towards the exit, and he followed. At a dismissive wave of her hand, several of the jeweled asari's armed contingent detached themselves from the main group, following twenty paces or so behind them while they made their way back down the staircase that rippled like artificial water. The lower floor of the club was still lively, bustling with people, as they walked out through the smoked glass doors and past the long queue waiting outside to get in.

She didn't say a word until they were past the last few impatient looking salarians at the end of the line and the armed asari following them had melted back in amongst the other patrons. They were standing in an alcove between the building that housed Paradise and what looked to be a hotel. "Keep an eye out for the two wounded krogan. I need to talk to Miranda."

Shepard tapped the console on her omni-tool, and a flickering orange image appeared, suspended just above her wrist.

"Shepard, what the hell happened back there?"

"I don't know. Have the two krogan left yet?"

The tiny image of Miranda shook her head. "No. It looks like the asari are waiting for something or someone. They've moved them off the dance floor, but those armed guards are still surrounding them."

"I don't know what these guys are after, but they threatened Garrus. Listen, there are two more krogan. Dressed the same. Pristine combat armour. They went upstairs, I'm guessing that's where the private rooms are, just before these two made their move. Jack was watching the stairs; I'll ask her to stay where she is for a little while longer." Shepard pressed her lips tightly together as she paused to think. "I need you to keep an eye on everyone there. Hang around long enough to see if anything else is going on that we need to know about. Then, get our people out. Send them off to drink somewhere else. I don't believe this had anything to do with anyone but Garrus," she looked to him and he nodded in confirmation, "but, if anything doesn't seem right to you—if there's  _any_  risk at all of something else going on—order everyone back to the ship."

"Understood, Shepard."

"Medical transport just pulled up." Garrus was leaning against the stone wall of the alcove, not taking his eyes off the club's entrance and transport docking area as a shiny, white vehicle slowed and then stopped. Its sides were emblazoned with blaring advertisements that were shouting the benefits of a hospital that was apparently 'the current gold standard in healthcare, 'staffed only by the most highly-qualified medical personnel in the whole of the Crescent Nebula,' and 'driven by innovation'.

Miranda's voice cut in again. "They're moving the krogan now."

"Thanks, Miranda. Not much more we can do here. We'll be heading back to the Normandy shortly. Message me if you need anything."

"Will do, Shepard."

Shepard terminated the connection with another tap of her finger. "Let me know when you see our guys. Just need to message Jack, too."

"Sure thing. I see medical personnel heading inside right now." Garrus continued his vigil as Shepard talked, trying to put the pieces together in his head. They had been looking for Archangel, so clearly someone had seen through the story that Shepard had circulated of his apparent demise just after he'd joined the crew of the SR-2. The most likely groups to want Archangel's head— _his_  head—would be the ones he had worked so tirelessly against on Omega: Eclipse, the Blue Suns, or the Blood Pack. Krogan usually meant Blood Pack, as neither of the other two groups employed them very often but, this time, he wasn't sure. He hadn't seen any Blood Pack markings or insignias on their armour, and those were normally worn with a great deal of pride; the symbols their own form of subtle intimidation.

The doors opened, and the familiar figures of the asari guards materialized along with the two hobbling krogan, who were supported on each side by several members of the medical team. "Krogan are being escorted into the medical transport."

Shepard quickly ended her call with Jack, sliding up next to him to watch as the pair of krogan were helped inside the vehicle before it sped away. "Do you know what they wanted?" she murmured at last.

"No, but they called me Archangel. Said they were taking me to talk to their boss."

"Did you recognize any of them?"

He shook his head. "No."

"My first thought was Blood Pack."

"Mine, too, but I've never known a member of any of those big merc groups that didn't want to flaunt that they belonged. No, if they were Blood Pack, they'd have wanted me to know about it; to rub it in that what I did on Omega wasn't enough, and that they were still strong."

"So, you piss off anyone else during your time on Omega that I should know about?" Shepard leaned back next to him against the stone wall.

"Hmmm… let me think." He pretended to ponder her question, scratching his jaw as if deep in thought. "I suppose it's safe to say that I managed to piss off just about every group of criminal scum that operates out of there at one point or another."

"Well, that narrows it down." She sighed, staring off in the direction that the medical transport had taken. "At least we know they're apparently only interested in you. The rest of the crew shouldn't have any other problems tonight… in theory."

Garrus was grateful for  _that_ , anyway. "What's the plan, then? I don't think there's much more we can do here right now… unless Jack saw something?"

"Nothing yet of the other two. She's going to stay put for a while, just in case, and message me if she sees anything interesting." Shepard pushed back a wisp of hair that was curling into her eyes. "I don't think there's much point in hanging around here. This 'boss,' whoever they are, isn't likely to come waltzing through those doors any time soon, not that we even know who it is or what they look like. I think Liara is going to be our best chance to find out anything, but it's too late to talk to her now." Shepard quickly checked the time on her omni-tool. "Besides, it's still your birthday for twenty more minutes. We might as well make them count."

Garrus couldn't help the laugh that escaped him. "I don't think my birthday is really the issue here, Shepard."

She poked him lightly in the arm. "Come on. Let's head back to the ship. I don't know about you, but I could definitely use that drink now. Maybe more than one."

He poked her back, flaring his mandibles in a grin and pushing the krogan from his mind. "More root beer? You do like to live dangerously."

"Said the turian who took down zero bad guys to the woman who took down two." Shepard tsked, shaking her head back and forth. "Reflexes looked mighty slow back there, Vakarian. It's a good thing you have me."

"Now, that's not fair. Technically, I disabled my guy  _before_  you kicked out his knee. That counts as one. One for me, one for you. We're even."

Shepard huffed. "You wish."

"And, that means I'm still ahead." He gave her his most simpering look. "Don't worry, Shepard. You'll catch up to me  _some_  day. Maybe I could give you some pointers the next time we—"

Shepard gave him a hard jab in the chest with her finger. "All right. That's it, Sweet Cheeks. You're buying me a case of beer— _real_  beer—on the way back now. "

Garrus deliberately let his face fall. "But… but, it's still my birthday."

"Ugh, fine. I'll buy you a case of whatever you want, too. But, then you have to sit and drink a couple with me."

He looked her square in the eye and held out his hand in the human custom. "Deal."

Shepard met his gaze with a fierce one of her own as she nodded solemnly, wrapping his hand with her own smaller one and shaking it firmly. "Deal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, to Josie Lange, for her advice and suggestions. *hug*
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to read and/or leave a comment. It means a lot!


	6. Out of the Darkness

To Garrus' surprise, Shepard had led him up to her cabin rather than to the mess or the lounge area that Kasumi had adopted as her own personal living quarters. 'If I'm going to get shit faced, I'm certainly not doing it in plain view of everyone,' she'd remarked with a shrug when he'd commented on it.

He'd been up here a few times since he'd joined the crew of the SR-2 although, more often than not, Shepard had been the one to come down and find him in the main battery. Those early days had been dark ones—his thoughts still weighted down with the effects of Sidonis' betrayal. Every night, when he'd closed his eyes, sleep wouldn't come. He'd tried, Spirits knew, he'd tried… But, it hadn't mattered. No matter how much his eyes had hurt—dry and gritty with exhaustion; no matter how hard he'd pushed himself, no matter how many hours in a row he'd forced his sluggish mind and limbs to do just  _a little bit more, just a little further_ … It had never been enough to keep them away.

At first, it had been their voices, whispering in his head; the letters of their names burning against the backs of his eyelids when he'd finally succumbed to his weariness. The letters of their names, just as he'd etched them, one by one, in his fury and heartbreak, into the hard surface of his visor's frame.

Erash, Monteague, and Mierin.

Grundan Krul.

Melanis, Ripper, Sensat, and Vortash.

Butler. Weaver.

Sidonis.

Fucking Sidonis.

He should have seen it coming.

_Never_  should've trusted him.

He'd had doubts about him, right from the beginning, but he'd ignored them—shoved them aside—because he'd wanted to push on so badly.

They'd all wanted to cash out, they'd done enough. But,  _he_  wouldn't let them. They were making a difference, he'd told them. The gangs were running scared. It wouldn't be long now.

And then they had been betrayed.

Your fault, the voices murmured. You killed us, killed us all; you might not have been the one who pressed the cold barrel against the sides of our heads and pulled the trigger, but you murdered us just the same.

Their accusations were like their blood—splattered on the floor, on the walls… on his hands.

When he'd finally managed to fall asleep, resorting to the drugs Dr. Chakwas had provided after his injury, it had been worse. Not just their voices, but their tortured and mangled bodies as well. Fingers clawing and grasping at his arms; empty concave torsos with their rib cages crushed inward; blank faces with sunken holes where their eyes should have been…

They would beg, then. Beg him to save them, to help them—how could he have let them die?—as he would press his hands over his own ear canals to try and shut out the sounds of their screaming that inevitably would become his own as he would wake, gasping and shaking.

Those first weeks had been mired in darkness as he'd thrown himself into any work he could find to keep his mind occupied and busy. Optimizing algorithms. Calibrating sensors. Anything that required focus. Shepard had come to see him every day, usually more than once. As much as it had pained him, he'd been unable to do much more than nod at her; pretend to be busy. But, that hadn't stopped her, hadn't deterred her, no matter how hard he'd tried to push her away.

Shepard had just…  _been there_. Often, she'd perched herself on the empty cargo container in the corner that he'd never been able to find the time or energy to move, filling him in on upcoming missions and strategies. At the start of the morning cycle, she'd begun stopping in briefly, just to press a warm mug of tisane into his hands, before vanishing again with just a tilted half-smile. He'd sipped at them only to humour her at first, but the familiar fragrance of turian-grown herbs and fruits had brought a reluctant sort of comfort.

Then, there'd been the morning when she hadn't come.

He'd held off on starting his next search, knowing that it was almost 0700 and that Shepard would be by any time. But, then it had been 0730, and then 0800, and then he'd been pacing as he'd waited. Where was she? Had she given up on him? He'd already checked and re-checked that she was on the ship. By 0830, he hadn't been able to stand it, and he'd crept hesitantly from the main battery in search of her.

She'd been there, sitting at a table in the otherwise empty mess hall area, watching the main battery doors with a mug of her own in her hand. Another mug had sat in the empty place across the table from her. He still remembered the way she'd smiled at him then—thinking that he finally understood what it meant to see someone lit from within.

He'd smiled back. Spirits, it had hurt. His damaged mandible had sent a jolt of pain through him as it had opened wide in a turian grin. Shepard had softened at that—he hadn't even registered the tension she must have been carrying until it suddenly drained away before his eyes.

Without a word, she'd stood up and grabbed his cup before making her way over to the cupboards that Gardner kept stocked with day-to-day supplies and proceeded to make his tea. He hadn't said anything either, but had leaned back against the wall to watch her. Evidently, she'd been making the tisane she'd been bringing him every morning herself, as she'd confidently reached for tins of various herbs, dried flowers, and preserved fruits; spooning in a little of one and slightly more of another, without hesitation, into a small teapot of turian design. After adding the boiling water, she'd swirled it in the way he remembered his mother doing it; bringing back memories of their tiny kitchen in the house on Palaven and the warm yellow walls and the pleasant way his chair squeaked if he shifted his weight from the back to the front and then back again.

After a few minutes, Shepard had covered the opening of his mug with a fine meshed strainer and drained the contents of the teapot into it before handing it to him, almost shyly. 'Now that you're out here… Sit with me for a minute?' she'd said.

How could he have refused?

So, they'd sat and talked and, once he'd started, he hadn't been able to stop. When the crew had started to trickle in for lunch, they'd moved up to her quarters. He'd talked about anything and everything, letting the words dribble out of him like acid as he'd vomited up the horrors of the past two years. He'd told her about Omega, about his squad, about Sidonis… He'd told her about how he'd tried to help, tried to change things for the better, but that it hadn't worked. He'd confessed about his nightmares, about his failure to save them.

By the time he'd stopped, his flanging voice scraped raw, he'd found himself clutching a cold mug of tisane in one hand with Shepard's hand wrapped tightly around his other one.

That night, he'd slept, curled up and exhausted to the point of aching weariness. The dreams had come, but they'd been exhausted along with him. They'd draped him in their tattered flesh, crooning forgiveness and holding him close as silent trails of tears had run down what was left of their faces.

The following night, they hadn't come at all.

Over the next few weeks, he'd crawled back to life—a  _real_  life— centimeter by centimeter away from the darkness that had waited to consume him if he'd faltered. Shepard had been there, pulling him forward and chasing the nightmares back, even though they had very nearly claimed him again when the chance to take down to Sidonis had surfaced.

He owed her, owed her everything. His life, his loyalty, his unwavering devotion… He would have laid it all at her feet if she'd asked.

"You look light years away. Are you still up for a drink or two, or is the birthday boy all birthday'ed out for the evening?" Shepard had set down the two cases of beer—one levo, one dextro—that they'd picked up on the way back to the ship and was now rummaging around in her desk for a bottle opener.

Garrus sat down on the couch, carefully positioning his legs to avoid bumping his spurs against the edge. There was a halo of light framing her where she stood near the fish tank, giving her an aura of unworldliness.

"There's nowhere I'd rather be," he said softly.

There was more truth in that statement than he was ready to admit to her… at least for right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, Josie Lange, for her invaluable help and for always finding time for me in her busy schedule. I appreciate you so much!
> 
> Thank you all for reading!


	7. Here and Now

He'd been a little nervous at first—some of that giddy adrenaline rush from earlier in the evening had returned in full force—especially being here alone, just the two of them. But, the setting was familiar, intimate, and laid back, and he'd have to be an idiot to not want to take advantage of the rare chance to spend some time together with Shepard without all the other duties and distractions in the way. It felt… almost  _normal_ , and it was definitely something that he could see himself getting used to.

Shepard was relaxed in a way he wasn't sure he'd ever seen her before, with one arm draped across the back of the couch and the other holding on to her bottle of beer. The conversation was comfortable and punctuated with laughter as they worked their way through a couple of bottles each. Garrus paced himself, drinking a little more slowly to let her catch up to the wine and whisky he'd had earlier in the night. Neither of them was drunk, but he'd reached the stage of feeling warm and happy; loose and content.

When he'd accidentally slopped a little of his ale over his hand, he hadn't thought anything of stripping off his damp glove—and the other one for good measure— laying them out on the arm of the couch beside him. He'd even forgotten that he'd taken them off by the time Shepard had commented on it. She'd actually stopped talking, mid-sentence, when she'd noticed.

"Hey, you took your gloves off!" She stared at his hands for a moment, and he nearly covered them again, wondering if he'd mistakenly done something culturally inappropriate. Shepard didn't seem upset though… more  _curious_  than anything, if he was correctly interpreting the way her brow furrowed and the way she seemed to be gnawing on her lower lip.

"Are they sharp?" she asked in a sudden rush of words.

"Sharp?"

"Your talons." She glanced down at her beer, possibly embarrassed? "Okay, this sounds stupid, but I always wondered what… I mean, it's just that I don't think I've ever seen you take them off and I… Never mind. It's weird. I'm being weird."

"It's okay, it's not weird. Well, not  _that_  weird anyway." He snickered. "Do you want to see? I don't mind." He moved the hand that was closest to her and rested it on the fabric of the couch, splaying out his fingers for her perusal.

With a hesitant glance that flicked over his face, Shepard took his hand in hers; running the edge of her thumb over the velvet pad of his palm. It tickled a little, but he kept still enough to permit her explorations as she continued along the pebbled skin of his primary digit.

She stopped at the point where his talon began, looking to him for permission. "They're filed," he murmured. "Safe."

"Do you keep them blunted all the time?" Her eyes were bright and curious; her cheeks slightly flushed from the alcohol in her system.

"Yeah. It's easier to shoot when they're not curved. Or sharp."

She poked the tip of one experimentally with her finger. "If I had these, I'd keep them all pointy. Then, I could jab Udina in the head whenever he annoyed me."

"So,  _all_  the time then?"

She laughed, relaxed once more. "Absolutely. Every fucking time. 'Hey, Shepard, you can't do that.' Poke." She mimed a jab at his head. "'Hey, Shepard, this is an outrage. ' Poke. 'Hey, Shepard, suck my balls.' Poke." Shepard released his hand with a sigh and leaned back with a smile. "It would be awesome."

Garrus took another long draw from his bottle and set it down on the floor next to the couch. "I know  _I'd_ pay to watch that. I'm sure you could get some sort of implants. Miranda could probably hook you up."

"Yeah, somehow it wouldn't be as satisfying though. I guess I'll have to make do with just punching him one of these days." She took a swig from her drink and nestled the bottle in her lap. "Okay, since I just groped up your hands; it's your turn. You must have some part of my weird alien body that you've always wondered about."

He paused, as if in thought, although he already knew what his answer would be. He liked this relaxed camaraderie between them and he didn't want it to end. Thanks to the comfortable warmth of the alcohol in his system, his slight embarrassment at voicing his desire out loud didn't even make him blush—not that she'd have been able to tell anyway. The light from the aquarium washed everything in a bluish tint, so any extra colour along his neck and under his throat wouldn't be visible. "Your hair."

The whole notion of hair had creeped him out at first, when he'd first started with C-Sec. The tiny strands had brought back childhood fears of the multi-legged  _araneae_  that had lurked in the shadows beneath his bed. It didn't bother him in the same way now, thankfully, although his inherent sense of its  _oddness_  hadn't faded nearly as much. Shepard's hair fell just past her shoulders; curling at the edges, especially in environments that were hot and humid. It was almost always tied back into a clump on the back of her head, although wisps inevitably escaped to cling to her forehead and cheeks.

He was relieved that Shepard seemed completely unperturbed by his request.

"I can do that. Here." She pulled at the band that held it all in place, securing it around her wrist before combing her fingers through it. The floral undertones that defined Shepard's unique scent grew slightly stronger. She smiled at him. "Okay, go for it, but try not to pull too hard."

Garrus reached for one of the locks that curled over her shoulder, rubbing the ends between his fingers. "So, this part is… dead? No sensation?"

"Nope, no feeling in it at all. Except where it attaches to the scalp. The hair itself is like… I don't know, a fingernail, I guess."

"It's softer than I expected," he said, not really sure what he'd been expecting, in all honesty. Garrus traced the lock up to the top of her head and she bent her head a little to accommodate him. He traced his talons lightly across her scalp. "You can feel this part?"

She made a small noise of affirmation, her head still bowed. "Just from the nerve endings on my head though. The hair itself has no nerves."

"Do you have this in other places? I know human men grow it on their faces, too, but I wasn't sure if women—"

Shepard glanced up, her cheeks a deeper pink than they had been earlier. "Er, yeah. We do, although it's not quite like the hair on our heads. We have a bit on our arms and legs and, um, around our… genital area."

"Around your—oh. Oh!" He stopped twisting a strand of hair around the tip of his finger. "Really?"

"Yes, really." She stuck out her tongue at him.

"Huh." He thought for a moment. "Doesn't that get itchy?"

She muffled a laugh. "Not really, no. Some women trim it, shave it, dye it crazy colours…"

Garrus gave her a grin that verged on a leer. "Do you?"

Shepard punched his shoulder and laughed again. "That's way too personal, big guy. Maybe after a few more drinks." She lifted the bottle from between her crossed legs and drained the last swallow. "Speaking of drinks, I need another one. You?"

"Sure, why the hell not?" Garrus finished off his bottle in a few long pulls as he watched her weave her way over to the cases in the corner and select a bottle from each one.

"Bottle opener?" She peered around the edge of the cases.

"On the floor, on your left."

"Perfect!" She cracked open the two new bottles and made her way back, sitting a little closer this time as she curled her legs back underneath her. The solidness of her side pressed against his was undeniably pleasant. Shepard clanked her bottle gently against his. "Cheers."

They drank in silence for a few minutes; Shepard taking at least two swallows for every one of his. The beer was amazingly still somewhat chilled. Shepard was fidgeting with a lock of hair, unconsciously mimicking his own earlier gestures. "Do you have feeling in your fringe?"

"My fringe?"

She set her drink down next to the couch and shuffled to draw her knees up to her chest, effectively curling into a ball. She folded her arms across her knees and rested her chin on top, tilting her head so she could look at him. "I was just thinking about hair—it really  _is_  kind of weird, when you think about it—and wondering whether or not your fringe is the same."

"Sort of. There is sensation all the way to the tips, but it's… stronger near the base. The feeling in the tips is more dull, but not quite numb. When they flare, it feels heavy and prickly. Not unpleasant, though."

Shepard's forehead crinkled in thought. "When they flare?"

It was Garrus' turn to chuckle awkwardly. "It's a… sexual thing. When males get aroused, the extra blood flow makes the spines of our fringes, uh, grow a little bigger. Stick up a bit."

"Really? Sounds hot."

Garrus snorted. "Never thought you were into turians, Shepard."

"Well, technically, he'd be into me… if things were going well, anyway." It was her turn to leer as she reached down to grab the neck of her bottle, letting it dangle loosely from the tips of her fingers for a minute. She then took a slow sip, her gaze lingering on his face as she arched an eyebrow at him. "Why? You offering?"

He leaned back and took an exaggerated swallow of his own drink, holding her eyes with his own. "I'd love to Shepard, I really would, but I don't think you could handle all this." He gestured with his hand, indicating the length of his chest and torso. "I'd take my shirt off, you'd swoon, and it would all be over before we'd even started."

The corners of her mouth twitched with restrained laughter. "You wish, big guy."

He chuckled and drank again. "Hey, you brought it up."

She set her drink back down on the floor. "So, can I touch it?"

"Excuse me?" Garrus inhaled too rapidly and coughed as the burn from the alcohol seeped into his nasal passages.

"It's my turn in the 'touch the alien' game. Fringe, yes or no? Or, is that too strange? I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"Uh, it's fine." The fire in his nose was still remarkably unpleasant and he coughed again. "Go ahead."

Shepard shifted to a kneeling position to give herself enough height to reach the top of his head and, as she had done when he'd touched her hair, he let his head drop down to give her easier access. He couldn't see her face, but he could sense her slight hesitation before her fingers made contact with the base of his fringe. The tips of her fingers were cool, like droplets of chilled rain sliding up the spines.

"This okay?"

"Yeah." His subharmonics wavered into a lower register. It felt… nice. More than nice. "Yeah, it's okay." Shepard stroked along each one, feeling the pointed ends just as she had with his talons. It had really been far too long since he'd been touched this way by anyone and, even though she clearly didn't mean anything sexual by it, it was strangely comforting just to  _be_  touched.

"Your skin is so warm. I'm jealous." She sat back lazily, the lack of contact leaving him faintly disconcerted. He could still almost imagine the sensation of her fingers sweeping over the contours of fringe.

He found his voice after what he hoped was an imperceptible gap in the timing of his response. "How you humans managed to survive with no body heat is beyond me."

"I know." She sighed. "No claws, no fangs, soft and squishy… There's a reason I love guns." Shepard grinned and drained the rest of her bottle, lining up the empty one into an orderly row with her others; a row of amber-hued glass soldiers all standing at attention. "Want another one? It is your birthday, after all. Well, close enough, anyway."

"I'm good for now. Still have lots left in this one." He waggled the bottle, just enough to show its contents without spilling.

"Suit yourself." She hopped up, slightly more staggered than the last time, and grabbed another for herself. She fumbled with the opener, but succeeded on her second try. Considering the number of empty bottles that were arranged along her side of the couch, it was impressive that her hands were still  _that_  steady. No wonder she'd managed to drink Wrex under the table. "It's your turn, if we're still playing."

She flopped down next to him, draping an arm across his cowl and giving him a squeeze before settling back onto her side of the sofa. It should feel strange, to have this degree of casual familiarity with a superior, but… it didn't. Some time, between Shepard's rebirth and his own, they'd become more than that. There was no one— _no one_ —he trusted more than her and, based on the engulfing hug she'd given him when they'd met again on Omega, she felt the same. Everything was right again, better even.

"Garrus? You still with me?" She elbowed him in his side, making him jump.

"What? Sorry, thoughts running away on me." His hand had unconsciously drifted to the scarred side of his face; the bandage still covering most of the damage. "My turn." His eyes skimmed her figure, rising up to her face. He considered his options, not wanting to pick something that would offend her. "Well, your ears are pretty strange, but I'm going to pick… your feet."

"My feet? All right, it's your party." She laughed as she stripped off the fabric casings that covered them, exposing the pale flesh beneath. Leaning back, she stretched her legs out so that her feet were in his lap. "There, go wild." She took a swig of her drink and angled her head to rest it against the back of the couch. "I have to admit, I didn't expect to be spending the night playing 'doctor' with you, but it's kind of fun."

"Playing 'doctor'?"

"You know, you show me yours and I'll show you mine. The clean version… at least at this level of inebriation. I'm feeling pretty happy right about now, don't know about you."

"Very happy." His mandibles relaxed into an expression of contentment as he studied the human feet in his lap. Her toes were tiny and numerous, poking out from the end of each foot, and he couldn't help thinking that the main part of the appendage looked almost larval, not unlike the slugs he used to dig up from the rocks behind the house before leaving them, in copious quantities, inside Solana's shoes.

"You actually walk around on these things?" He touched the tip of each toe, tapping each of her nails with his own, before running a talon experimentally down the sole. To his shock, she recoiled with an explosion of laughter and reflexively tried to pull her feet away.

"Fuck off! That tickles!"

"It does?" He closed his fingers around one of her ankles to prevent her from pulling her foot away. Really? Just when I do this?" With his free hand, he traced down the full length of the underside of her trapped foot.

Shepard crunched inward in a way that would have been impossible for a turian, simultaneously gasping and laughing. "Stop! Stop. You're mean."

"No, this is mean." He attacked the sensitive flesh with all three digits, thinking back to early childhood tussles with Solana. She'd been horribly ticklish, too, which he had regularly exploited for the sheer pleasure of tormenting her.

Shepard shrieked as she tried, once more, to pull away from his onslaught. She could have broken his hold easily but, instead, she lunged forward and attacked his waist with her chilly, little fingers. "Let go!"

He couldn't help flinching away with a huffing laugh of his own. "You'll have to do better than that."

"All right, you asked for it. Remember that." It was an effort to get the words out around gulps of laughter, but she managed.

"Bring it. I can take you. Squishy human." Garrus slid away from her, keeping his grip locked on her ankle.

She launched herself at him, knocking them both off the couch as they landed awkwardly with Shepard sprawled on top of him as he released her foot. "There! I showed you… you, scaly… lizard… guy."

He broke down at that, laughter escaping him in a low rumble. "Scaly lizard guy?  _Scaly lizard guy_? That's the best you can come up with?"

"Yeah, well, it's… accurate. And, also, you suck."

Garrus laughed again, feeling relaxed and happy in a way he hadn't been for a long time. Since… she'd died, really. Now, she was stretched across his chest and it was an effort not to wrap his arms around her and pull her in closer, burying his nose in the sweet smell of her hair. That  _would_  be inappropriate—downright idiotic, in fact—so he allowed himself to simply savour the sensation of her body against his and hoped she wouldn't feel the need to move, for a few moments at least.

Shepard inched up, her arms folded as best she could across the rounded top of his carapace and laying her cheek down on top of them as she studied his face thoughtfully; all traces of laughter gone except for the slight tilt to her smile. He tried not to squirm under her gaze, as the intimacy of their position settled over him; simultaneously strange and perfect. "Garrus?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really glad you're here with me. Through all of this. No matter how fucked up everything gets, it's…" She paused, searching for the right words. "Well, I just feel better knowing that you've got my back. Between Cerberus and the Alliance, it's only a matter of time before things go pear shaped—and that's not even counting the Collectors… and the Reapers… Basically, we're already fucked." She chuckled, shaking her head. Despite the chilliness of her hands and feet, her torso was comfortably warm; the weight of her draped over him like a blanket. "No different than every other day of my life when it gets down to it."

"Shepard…" He wanted to brush back the hair that had fallen into her eyes, but settled for putting his hand on her shoulder instead. "There's nowhere I'd rather be." Maybe it was the fact that he was contentedly perched just on the edge of being drunk, but the truth of his words, an echo of the ones he'd spoken when they'd arrived in her cabin, struck him profoundly. Unlike his childhood of constantly butting heads with his father… unlike his time at C-Sec where the politics and bureaucracy had driven him storming out of the office on an almost daily basis… unlike his stint as a vigilante on Omega where crushing bitterness had threatened to pull him under…

There was nowhere he would rather be than right  _here_. With Shepard. Preferably, with Shepard like  _this_ ; relaxed, happy, and lying on top of him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Well, there's nowhere I'd rather be either, so I guess we're even." Her words filled him with a buoyant sort of elation, eliciting a fierce sensation of protectiveness. Once again, it was hard to keep his arms from sliding up to surround her. He stroked the smooth skin of her shoulder, tracing a small circle with the pad of his finger, marvelling at the unfamiliarity of seeing her without armour, or even in her standard, non-combat fatigues.

Shepard unfurled one arm from beneath her chin, her hand creeping up towards his jaw before she stopped. "Can I?"

Garrus managed an attempt at a shrug that he hoped looked casual enough to disguise the way his heart was suddenly beating faster. "Of course."

Her hand came up to cup around his injured mandible. "Tell me if I'm hurting anything."

"You're not. It feels mostly just tight and itchy now."

She ran her fingers over the bandage that was still protecting his damaged tissue, then the scarred areas where the skin had healed enough to not need the extra protection. "I'm sorry I didn't get there sooner." Her voice was a whisper; quiet enough that he almost missed the waver in her words.

"You were dead." His gut still clenched to say it out loud, but he forced a huff that could have been mistaken for a laugh. "I think you had a pretty good excuse."

Shepard didn't say anything for a moment, concentrating on her exploration of the ridges and puckers of his barely-healed flesh. "I'm still sorry. If you hadn't made it," her gaze turned hard and steely, "I would have killed  _every fucking merc_  on Omega."

"It wouldn't have helped."

Her eyes focused on his. "What wouldn't have helped?"

"Killing everyone." Garrus took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It feels good, for a while, but it doesn't make it hurt any less. No matter how many of those bastards I shot, no matter how many people I tried to help… None of it mattered." Her fingers were caressing his wounded mandible and he angled his head into her touch gratefully.

"How can you say it didn't make a difference?" She lifted herself up a little to look at him more easily. "You had Eclipse, the Blood Pack, and the Suns actually working  _together_  to try and take you out. Think of how much damage you did to their operations, how many people—"

He stopped her with a shake of his head. "No, none of it mattered." He was glad that she couldn't pick up on the intonations of his subharmonics that were now steeped with grief. "None of it mattered because  _you_  were gone." It was impossible to not remember the overwhelming emptiness and anger that had permeated his very being, like a beast clawing its way out of his chest. "You were gone, and I eventually realized that nothing I was doing was  _ever_ going change that. "

"I'm here now." Her eyes were watery; a single tear trailing silently down her cheek.

"I know." He gave in and wrapped his arms around her, unable to hold back the well of emotion that finally crested inside of him. He hoped that she'd just chalk up his actions to an excessive amount of alcohol on both their parts by the time the morning cycle arrived—if she even remembered it at all. "I know you're here now, and I'm going to make sure it stays that way this time."

She settled into his embrace, her cheek against his chest, and he nuzzled the top of her head as he breathed in her scent. His fringe was angled uncomfortably against the floor, but there was no way that he was going to move—even if her legs hadn't been tangled in his. What were the odds that he'd ever find himself in this situation again? He certainly wasn't about to waste even a single minute of the opportunity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Giant, super squishy hugs for my wonderful beta, Josie Lange, for putting up with me constantly sending her chapters... and then second guessing myself and re-sending them to her, hours later, with more changes. Thank you. Truly. :)
> 
> Thank you so very much to everyone out there reading for your incredible support, too. Giant, super squishy hugs for everyone!


	8. Stay With Me

They lay there for a long time, not speaking; Garrus closed his eyes and concentrated on the slightly jagged edges of her breathing, on the dull throb of his heart beating in counterpoint to hers. He waited for her to speak again, not sure of what might accidentally come out of his mouth if he were to speak first. But, she didn't say anything, either.

It was with great reluctance that he was forced to adjust his position once the discomfort in his fringe became too much to bear. Shepard made no comment, merely sighing a soft puff of air against his shirt. Garrus opened his eyes, lifting his head just enough to see her face. Her eyes were closed—as his had been—and her features were relaxed; her breathing deep and even.

She'd fallen asleep.

He'd seen her asleep before—she was notorious for falling asleep in the shuttle when they were headed planet-side—but this was different. She'd fallen asleep in  _his_  arms and, Spirits, it felt good.

She was a light sleeper, as most soldiers were, so he'd have to move carefully if he wanted to transfer her into the bed without waking her. As slowly as he could manage, Garrus inched himself into an upright sitting position, keeping Shepard cradled against his chest. She stirred each time he shifted, and he would sit and wait—memorizing the sweep of her cheekbones or the way the delicate bones in her hand led to each slender finger—until she'd settled back under once more.

The biggest challenge was in rising from his seated position on the floor, but the strength in his legs was enough to get him up smoothly—more or less—even with the additional weight of Shepard in his arms and the alcohol in his system. The blankets on her bed were tightened and tucked into place with the precision that every military apparently drilled into its recruits, leaving him with a dilemma. There was no way he could pull the covers back without putting Shepard down, but she was sure to get too cold if he left her on top of the blankets. After a moment of indecision, he decided to put her down on top. He could always duck out and grab a few of his own—he hardly ever used them anyway—and come back and cover her up.

Her body had just touched the bed when, to his chagrin, she woke, opening her eyes with a languid blink. "Garrus?"

He kept his voice low and quiet; his face was still close to hers, his arms still cradling her body. "It's all right. You fell asleep. I was just on my way out."

"Don't go." Shepard's hand crept up to the side of his jaw, her thumb brushing over his left mandible. "Stay with me?"

"I… uh…" He wasn't sure what to say. Of course, he  _wanted_  to stay, but he wasn't nearly drunk enough to pretend to himself that staying would be a good idea. He'd crossed more than enough lines tonight already. If she regretted everything in the morning, it would be far better for him to  _not_  be here than to be lying right next to her. In  _her_  bed. "I don't think that's a good idea, Shepard. We've both had a lot to drink, and I think it—"

"Please?" Her eyes were still heavy with sleep as her hand slid from his face to the collar of his shirt that hung loosely across his cowl, tugging gently at the fabric. "Just tonight."

This was wrong. He really shouldn't… but, it was impossibly hard to listen to the voice in the back of his head when Shepard was pulling on his shirt and looking up at him in a way that made his chest feel hot and tight. "Just tonight," he murmured, his subvocals rough with the discordant mismatch of tones signifying hesitation and protectiveness; longing and affection.

She smiled then; the light in her eyes flooding him with warmth. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. Come on, let's get you covered up." She shuffled over as he pulled back the blankets at the top corner of the bed, flipping them back far enough so she could wiggle underneath. She stretched happily as he slid awkwardly in beside her and tucked the covers up over the two of them. He was careful not to touch her, not wanting to embarrass himself by initiating any unwanted contact.

Shepard was lying on her side, facing him, as he folded the pillow to better support his fringe. "Do you need another one? You can have mine, if it'll help."

"No, I'm okay. If I stay on my side, this one will be fine." Finally satisfied, he settled his head against the pillow. They were close enough that he could feel the faint sensation of her breath on his face; close enough to simply rest his forehead against hers like it was the most natural thing in the world. She probably didn't even know what it meant…

No.

No, this had been a terrible idea.

Why had he agreed to this? He was going to do something stupid and make a huge mess of things. She was staring at him, no doubt sensing his heightened anxiety…

"You're not going to sleep with that on, are you?"

His racing thoughts stammered to a halt. With what on? Was she expecting him to take his shirt off? "Sleep with what now?" he said, dumbly.

"This." She tapped the edge of his visor. "I can't imagine you'd want to roll over on it."

His visor. Of course. He blew out a breath as his heart stuttered back to life. "Right. My visor. I… should take it off. Right."

"I can do it. Hold still." Her nimble fingers unhooked the clasps, and then she leaned forward; her body, firm against his, as she stretched across and over him to place it on the nightstand next to the bed. When she settled back on to her side, she was now even closer than before, although it didn't seem to phase her at all. "Better?"

"Yeah." It  _was_  more comfortable though, truthfully, he slept with it on more often than not. The dance of illuminated data scrolling along the periphery of his vision was instinctively familiar after all these years.

Shepard blinked slowly, clearly still sleepy, as they watched each other; both unsure of this strange new territory they'd inadvertently stumbled into. "Is it my turn, or yours?"

He hadn't been expecting that, and he let out a nervous chuckle. "Yours, I think. But, we should probably get some sleep."

"I know. I'm tired; I just… don't want this night to end."

The words were out of his mouth before he could think. "There's always tomorrow."

She nodded, stifling a yawn. "True. Still, hate to waste my turn. Who knows when I'll get enough alcohol into you again. Or into me."

Garrus struggled not to yawn along with her. "Knowing you and your powers of persuasion, I don't stand a chance."

Shepard grinned at that. "Damned right, you don't. Hey, I forgot to give you your gift from me!" She ignored his protestations that it could wait, rolling over to pull something out of the drawer from the nightstand on her side of the bed. "Won't… take me… a minute… hang on." She nearly lost her balance as she over-reached, but she righted herself just as he'd stretched out his arm to keep her from toppling over the edge. He let go reluctantly as she rolled back over to face him once more. "Here." Shepard blew out her breath in a quick exhale as she handed over a neatly wrapped box slightly larger than his fist. "Happy birthday."

The paper was surprisingly plain. Blue. No pattern. "What, no rainbow-coloured vorcha? No drell cavorting in flowery meadows?" He pretended to be disappointed as he turned it over, inserting a talon along the seam that had been secured with adhesive tape.

Shepard's lips pursed into an almost pout that made him laugh. "They were sold out."

The box underneath the paper was simple and unadorned as well, and Garrus looked at her questioningly.

"Trust me," she said quietly.

"Like you need to ask."

He lifted the lid, and froze.

Where had she—? There was only one place she could have found this… What was the likelihood of any of these having survived intact? Or that  _she_  would have been the one to find it?

"How? Where?" he managed to sputter out. She was just watching him with a hesitant sort of smile.

"Alchera. I found it when I was hunting around for dog tags. I looked for the other ones, but this was the only one I could find. I've… been waiting for the right time to give it back to you, and… today seemed like a good day."

Garrus set the box down on the bed between them and pulled the small cylindrical tool out with shaking fingers; grateful, in a strange way, to be lying down. It wasn't surprising, as he slid his finger across the activation sensor, that it didn't power on. Fine cracks feathered out over the surface from a chip in one of the edges, and the whole thing was scorched nearly black, obscuring what had once been shiny and silver. He turned it over in his hand, finding the place where his mother had painstakingly etched his name into the handle, as she'd done for each of the others, now all lost to the void of snow and stars.

"I was supposed to send those back to you, remember?" Shepard's voice was hushed and low. "You'd left them on the Normandy after you'd disembarked, after Saren. I don't even remember now who'd found them—Quinn, maybe?—but I'd have known that rolled up bit of cloth with those tools tucked into all the pockets anywhere." She shifted, resting a hand beneath her cheek as she curled up further on her side. "You always left them unrolled, across the hood of the Mako, while you were tinkering away. Probably breaking things. No wonder the steering on it was so awful."

He couldn't help snorting. "I'm sure it had nothing to do with your reckless disregard for solid ground."

"I can't believe you would even insinuate such a thing."

The subharmonics in his voice resonated with notes of surprise, sorrow, tenderness, and the closeness of familial bonds. "These were a gift from my mother when I was eleven. After I'd dismantled her omni-tool. Again. She gave me these," he placed the tool carefully back in the box, "and told me  _I_ had to fix it this time."

Shepard picked up the lid from next to his pillow and slid it down over top to close the box once more. "And it took you three months, but you did it. Although you never could fix the flicker in the holographic interface."

"How do you remember all of that?"

"Training. It's my job to remember. Observe, extract, memorize. You don't make it into N-School if you can't."

"And here I thought I was just special."

That earned him a chuckle and a half-hearted attempt at a wink. "Who said you weren't?"

He ran a taloned finger over the lid of the box, remembering what his mother had been like before Corpalis Syndrome had robbed her of her mind and her memories; remembering the mother who had pressed the crisp cloth roll of tools into his hands with a soft hum of patient encouragement. "Thank you, Shepard. This means… more than I can say."

"I'm glad."

After a moment, he gathered up the box and angled himself so that he could put it down reverently on the side table next to his visor. When he rolled back, he could see that Shepard's eyes were still open and they watched each other quietly in the near darkness, neither one of them speaking.

He was tired, content and sated, just beginning to feel his eyes growing heavy when she spoke again.

"Can I touch your markings? Or, is that some sort of cultural taboo?"

Given that they'd already crossed some sort of boundary tonight—not that he could clearly define what it was or when it had suddenly turned end over end—he shouldn't have been surprised by her request, but he was momentarily left speechless. Luckily, the shock he felt was hidden in the flanging of his subvocals. "You can touch them. It's… offensive to touch someone else's markings if you're trying to threaten them or exert your authority, but not, uh, like this." He didn't add that touching or tracing over another's tattoos was also extremely intimate; a sign of absolute trust, and a gesture of giving oneself fully to one's mate.

She frowned at him. "Are you sure? You don't have to—"

He took her hand in his own; the silhouette of their two hands together highlighted in the pale light rippling from the fish tank as he lifted it up and pressed her palm against his cheek. "It's fine. I promise." He was scarcely able to suppress his shudder as her fingers made contact with a careful stroke over the contours of his facial plates. His subvocals were nearly humming with undisguised longing.

"Are they painted on, or tattoos?"

"Neither, but the process is permanent, like tattooing." He swallowed, trying to focus on what she was asking; trying to ignore the euphoric sensation of her fingers tracing over each line along his cheek and then his nose. "A mild acid is applied to the outer plates, and then the dye is painted on and absorbed by the exposed layers of skin. The plating grows back, protecting the dye underneath."

Shepard's careful exploration stopped and he couldn't help holding his breath, hoping she would continue. "Did it hurt?"

"No, not really. I remember it being uncomfortable—the closest feeling would be something like a burn—but, I don't remember it well. It was a long time ago."

"How old were you?"

"Eight is the traditional age for colony markings, but I was nine when mine were done." He could see the question in her eyes before she'd even asked. "My father. Said I wasn't ready at eight, even though I'd already memorized the Oath of Loyalty and completed all the other requirements."

She looked at him sympathetically, her fingers mercifully returning to the markings on his cheek. "So, why didn't he let you do it?"

Garrus growled softly, the shame and anger he'd felt at the time resurfacing with a lurch. "I was bored at school, and I got tired of doing assignments on topics I already understood. So, I quit doing them. I scored perfect marks on my examinations, but that wasn't good enough—for my instructors, or for him. I had to repeat the year, so I wasn't considered to be at a sufficient tier to have my markings done, even though I was old enough. They might have made an exception, but my father sent in a letter  _recommending_  that my Oath be delayed."

"What did your mom say?"

He sighed. "She told me she supported his decision, but I heard them arguing about it one night after I was supposed to be in bed. She tried to convince him I  _was_  ready, that it would do me good to take on more responsibility, but he wouldn't have any of it."

"You must have been angry."

"Just a bit." He huffed. "I didn't talk to him for a month, not that he even seemed to notice. He never noticed anything."

"Sounds like something my dad would've done. Nothing was ever good enough. I joined the Alliance as soon as I turned eighteen, thinking maybe that would make him proud. But, all he said to me when I showed him my enlistment papers was, 'The Shepard name has a good reputation. You'd better not fuck it up, Janie.'" Shepard grimaced. "I spent my first few years terrified I was going to make some stupid mistake and that I'd have to go home and face him; see the disappointment on his face, made even worse by the fact that he would have been waiting for it, fully expecting me to fail." She laughed; a hard kind of coughing chuckle. "I swear that was my mantra through all my training. 'You'd better not fuck it up, Janie. You'd better not fuck it up.'" Garrus instinctively reached for her, his sense of boundaries and proprieties now thoroughly muddled. She curled into him contentedly as his arms pulled her into his space; the hum of his subvocals becoming a more noticeable rumble.

"It sounds like your father and mine would have made quite the pair. Maybe, when this is all over, we'll send them out for drinks together and see which one of us is the bigger disappointment."

She laughed—a real one this time—into the warmth of his chest. "Maybe we should. Would I get to see your baby pictures?"

"No. Definitely not. Now, we should really get some sleep."

"I could grab us each another drink…"

"Go to bed."

"I  _am_  in bed."

"You're impossible." He bumped his forehead lightly against the top of her head, like a parent would do to a recalcitrant child, unable to resist the show of affection. "Go to sleep."

"Fine, but I'm not happy about it."

"Fine."

"Fine."

She was completely out in less than five minutes. Garrus, on the other hand, lay awake for a long time afterwards lost in the feeling of her body against his. No matter what happened when they awoke, this had been a birthday he was never going to forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much to my beta, Josie Lange, for her ongoing advice, encouragement, and virtual hugs.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read, and/or leave a comment. I'm humbled by your support and I appreciate it so much. Thank you!


	9. This Odd Sort of Morning After

It was like a krogan was ramming against his skull in time with his pulse; each impact slightly worse than the one before it. Even the slightest movement was unbearable, and the act of rolling over on to his other side was enough to make him groan out loud. The krogan in his head didn't like the addition of the audible element, and it resumed its efforts at an even more furious pace. He hadn't thought he'd had  _that_  much to drink, but he was evidently mistaken.

"Why does it hurt?" he mumbled, debating whether or not the jostling necessary to pull the pillow out from under his head to cover his eyes was worth the agony that the movement would inevitably cause.

"Is that a trick question?"

The voice made him freeze, like he was pinned within his own crosshairs, as memories from the night before resurfaced. The restaurant, his cake, and that horribly embarrassing magazine. Paradise and the krogan. Getting pleasantly inebriated in Shepard's cabin, running his talons through her hair, the tips of her fingers exploring the spines of his fringe... There were no gaps at least—he hadn't been  _that_  drunk apparently—but he'd clearly had a large enough lapse in judgement that he'd willingly crawled into bed with Shepard. Sure, she'd asked him, and, sure, he'd  _wanted_  to, but he couldn't help feeling a little embarrassed now.

It was… awkward.

Last night, they'd crossed over the line from friends to something he couldn't easily define, and he had no idea if she felt the same way or not. Holding her in his arms had been nice—more than nice, if he was being completely honest with himself—and he could very distinctly remember her fingers tracing over the colony marks on his face. Just the thought of it now made him flush. But, had it just been a drunken casual thing? Did it mean more?

The thought of burying his head under the pillow was becoming more and more appealing by the second.

And, the krogan in his head wasn't helping. At all.

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. The krogan gave a battle cry and re-doubled his efforts.

Shepard was seated sideways on the couch, her knees pulled up to her chest with a datapad precariously balanced on the top of them, and she was watching him with an amused expression. She was still dressed in her clothes from the night before; her hair a tangle of curled strands that fell loose around her face and shoulders. She gave him a sympathetic look as he blinked at her blearily. "How's your head, big guy?"

"Not so good." His mouth felt dry and sticky, too.

"Allow me to assist." Shepard slid the datapad off her knees, dropping it on to the couch as she stood up. She stretched, raising her arms above her head and unintentionally exposing the bare skin just above the waistband of her pants. He'd seen her skin hundreds of times before—patching up wounds in combat, during sparring—but, this time, his reaction was markedly  _different_. In the few seconds it was visible, Garrus found himself wondering what it would feel like to touch her there. Was it smooth? Would he feel the corded muscle underneath? Was she ticklish there, too, or would she shiver as his fingers drifted slowly, purposefully, across her waist?

He felt a twinge of disappointment as the fabric of her shirt slid back down into place.

There was something wrong with him. There had to be. He needed to get this under control, and quickly, before he made a complete fool of himself and ruined the best friendship he'd ever had.

Shepard disappeared into her small bathroom, emerging a moment later with a glass of water. She walked across the room to the bed—making him acutely aware that he was still in it, in  _Shepard's bed_ —and then sat down on the edge, right next to him, her body leaning comfortably against his.

_Spirits._

She tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear and smiled at him. "Here, give me your hand." She gently took the hand he offered in her own, placing something in his palm and curling his fingers back over top of it. It took him a moment to fully process the fact that she'd given him something; he was almost mesmerized that she was apparently still so comfortable with touching him, here in this odd sort of  _morning after_ …

The awkward nervousness he'd woken up with was rapidly being replaced by a mild astonishment that he  _hadn't_  imagined it, that their relationship  _was_  shifting beneath them like sand resettling itself. The sudden burst of happiness that exploded in his chest was almost enough to make him forget about the incessant pounding in his head. Almost.

He realized belatedly that she was staring at him with that amused half smile again, and he carefully opened his fingers to see the two tiny yellow capsules that rested there. "What are they?"

"Analgesics. If your head is anything like mine was, these will help."

Garrus reached immediately for the glass of water in her hand, downing the two pills in a quick gulp, and then let his head drop back to the pillow with a pained rumble. "Please tell me they work quickly."

Shepard laughed. "They do. I'm going to go hop in the shower. You can lie here and groan for a little longer. You're still on shore leave for today—I just finished making up the schedule, conveniently enough—so you don't need to worry about rushing back to your calibrations." He tried to interrupt, but she stopped him with a raised hand. "I know they're important—believe me—but I want to go meet with Liara and see if we can find out anything more about those krogan from last night." She gave him a long look, tracing over his face with her eyes. When she finally spoke, her voice was fierce and quiet. "If someone's looking for Archangel, I want to know about it."

He hesitantly placed his hand over hers, unsure if he should do anything more. They sat like that for a moment that gradually stretched between them, neither one of them talking, taking a measure of comfort in the contact. Just when he was beginning to think that he might dare to sit up—throbbing head or not—and run his talons over the graceful curve of her jaw, maybe  _more,_ maybe… Shepard gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"I guess I should go get in the shower then. You can shower here, too, if you want. Avoid the line ups in the communal ones…" Her cheeks were taking on the pink colour that they frequently did when she was feeling embarrassed or self-conscious and she glanced away from him. "No pressure though. I'm not trying to… put you in a weird situation where you feel uncomfortable or…" She put her hand over her face, her fingers massaging her forehead. "Okay. Never mind. I'm making this worse. I should just quit talking."

It was a minor revelation to see her so flustered. "It's okay, you aren't making me uncomfortable. This… is new. For both of us." He thought about adding that he didn't even know what  _this_  was, but decided against making things even more confusing.

"Yeah, it is." She relaxed a little, and her hand dropped away from her face as she looked at him. "I… like it though."

"Me, too."

She stared at him for a few more seconds. "Right. So, I'm going to go… in the shower. Now." She nodded, as if agreeing with herself, as she stood up. "Right. So... going. Yeah." She vanished into the bathroom after another backwards glance in his direction. A minute or two later, Garrus heard the water start up.

Definitely not going to think about her naked. In the shower. Just a couple of feet away, really.

Garrus adjusted the pillow propped beneath his fringe before lying back with his hands behind his head.

Okay, maybe a little bit.

Shepard emerged about fifteen minutes later, dressed in her standard off-duty Cerberus attire. Her hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail once more; no stray wisps escaping. She looked like she always did, but he found himself missing the way she had looked earlier with her hair mussed up and her casual clothing that had clung to every curve. He was starting to really like this whole soft and curvy thing. "Shower's all yours, big guy," she said with a grin. "I'm going to leave you to it. I've got a quick meeting with Miranda, and then I'm ready to go. I messaged Liara while you were sleeping and she's expecting us in about two hours, so that should give us lots of time. You need anything before I head down?"

He sat up slowly, relieved that the krogan in his head had finally been beaten back. "No, I don't think so. After I shower, I'll change and check in with the crew in Engineering. I'll send you a message as soon as I'm done."

"Sounds good." Shepard walked over to the couch and scooped up the datapad she'd been working on earlier. She made it as far as the door before turning back to look at him with a mischievous look in her eyes. "You know, I can't help thinking you look good in my bed. I may have to keep you there." She winked and disappeared as the doors hissed open.

Garrus sat there in stunned silence, mandibles gaping like one of the well-fed fish swimming sluggishly in her aquarium.

He was going to need a longer shower than he'd thought. Preferably, a very, very cold one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, to the lovely Josie Lange, for poking at this with her beta stick, and thank you to all of you for reading and for your kind reviews and comments. :)


	10. How Bad Can It Be?

Walking through the business districts on Illium set Garrus on edge.  _Everyone_  here was, more than likely, happily engaged in the trade of something unpleasant or illegal—probably both—and it was hard to stroll along normally when each person they passed made his instincts prickle and bristle uncomfortably. It was a challenge to reconcile himself to the idea that it was all above board here… no matter how much it made his mandibles twitch in suppressed irritation.

Shepard was all business at the moment, too. She'd chosen to wear her armour this time, as had he; not willing to take any chances. She was marching forward purposefully, having obtained directions to Liara's office from one of the directory VIs scattered about the place. Unlike him, she didn't appear to be having any trouble walking past the group of batarians that were openly discussing a shipment of red sand, or the two salarians that were casually debating over which lot of slaves to bid on. He clenched his jaw even tighter and strode on after her.

As if she'd heard his thoughts, Shepard elbowed him gently. "I don't like it either. But, we're not exactly in a position to do anything about it."

"I know." He glanced briefly back at the salarians, swallowing his growl. "It's just… hard to ignore, to pretend like you don't care." He turned back to her with a tight shrug.

She gave him a sympathetic sigh. "I know."

Liara's office was upstairs, just above the trading floor. When they arrived, they were promptly shown inside by her assistant, who smiled and bowed amiably; offering them refreshments that they politely refused. Liara stayed silent until the other asari had retreated, closing the door behind her. Raising her hand to request their continued silence, Liara moved to the terminal on her desk and, without even sitting down, tapped away at it for a moment before looking up.

"Shepard. Garrus." Liara nodded at them formally. "The room is secure now, but I can't leave the hack in for too long, or it will draw suspicion. I'm sorry to say that we'll have to be somewhat brief."

If he hadn't known her before, Garrus would have sworn that this was a completely different person. The Liara he'd known on the SR-1 had been open, naïve; curious and still enamored with the universe and its mysteries.  _This_ Liara… reminded him of himself on Omega, and the contrast with her old self was chilling. Her eyes were hard and wary, though they softened slightly as they lingered on Shepard. Liara held herself carefully as she finally sat down in the chair behind her desk, folding her hands with utmost precision on its surface. "It's good to see you, Shepard."

Shepard seemed unsure what to make of this new Liara, too, but she dropped the firm set of her shoulders—more casual than her typical Commander Shepard persona. "It's good to see you, too, Liara. How have you been?"

Liara hesitated for a fraction of a second before replying. "I'm doing well. Being an information broker has been… an adjustment, but I enjoy the challenge. So, what can I do for you?"

Shepard leaned forward in her chair. "I assume you know what Garrus was doing on Omega after I died." She charged through the last few words as if determined to get them out as quickly as possible.

Liara nodded. "I'm… familiar with Omega and what," she looked at Garrus and there was a hint of approval in the appraisal, "Archangel was trying to achieve."

"The first thing we were hoping to find out is what Archangel's current status is, according to your contacts."

"I can do that. The last time I pulled that information, he was listed as 'High Probability Deceased,' but it may have changed since then." She sat back and looked them over coolly. "What's the second thing?"

Shepard leaned in even further. "Someone knows he's alive, and isn't happy about it."

"I'd heard there had been an incident at Paradise last night and that you were involved, Shepard." Liara looked thoughtful, her gaze straying briefly in Garrus' direction. "What happened?"

Garrus cleared his throat. "I was threatened by two krogan last night, in the Paradise night club here in Nos Astra. They called me Archangel; said they were planning on taking me to see their 'boss,' who was more than likely upstairs in one of the club's private rooms. There were two other krogan as well, but they'd vanished before the first two made their move."

"What did you do when they threatened you?"

Shepard grimaced. "They were marching towards the stairs with Garrus crushed between them. I kicked out the first one's knee; the second had a concealed pistol pressed into Garrus' side. Garrus disarmed him, and I took out one of his knees, too. Then, the club's security stepped in and we were asked to leave. The two krogan were taken away in a medical transport."

"Did you recognize any of them?" Liara was no longer looking at them, instead focused on typing the information into her terminal.

"No. They were wearing heavy armour, but it looked like it had could have been bought that day. No scratches, burns, smudges… There's no way that gear had ever seen combat. No distinctive colours, no insignias or markings…"

Liara tapped away for a few more moments. "Is there anything else you can think of that might be relevant?"

Garrus ran over the events of the evening in his head. There was certainly nothing out of the ordinary that jumped out at him. "I can't think of anything."

Shepard was shaking her head as well. "I don't think so."

"Give me twenty-four hours. I'll see what I can find." Liara stood up. "Now, you should be going. I don't want to leave the hack in any longer than necessary. I'll contact you on a secure channel when I have something."

"Thanks, Liara. I owe you one." Shepard looked as though she wanted to say something more, but an awkward silence crept in around them instead.

"No problem, Shepard," Liara finally said. Her voice trailed away into a whisper layered with meaning that he knew wasn't for him. "It's the least I can do… after everything." Holding up her hand once more, she disabled the surveillance hack and then gestured towards the door. Her eyes lingered on Shepard's for a moment longer before she turned her attention to her terminal.

She didn't look up again.

Garrus didn't say anything—Shepard didn't either—until they were already down the stairs and moving through the trading floor, where there was enough chatter to mask their conversation.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised at how much she's changed." Shepard was walking closer to him than she normally would, allowing her to speak more quietly.

As much as he was sure she was getting tired of it being brought up, he felt it needed to be said. "We all changed, after you died. I don't know that it was for the best. Without you, everyone drifted away from each other…" He remembered the haze he'd been in, in the weeks and months before he'd left the Citadel for Omega; how nothing had mattered. He remembered the days when he hadn't been able to bring himself to leave his apartment, or even get out of bed. It had been like sitting in the bottom of a hole filled with sand and, every time he'd tried to claw his way out, he'd only succeeded in bringing more sand down around him; burying him deeper the more he'd struggled. He shook his head. "Without you, the darkness claimed us, one by one."

Shepard gave a determined shake of her head. "I know we had a great team on the SR-1, but that had nothing to do with me. We did what needed to be done, and we were lucky enough to have an exceptionally cohesive group."

Garrus flicked his mandibles in respectful disagreement. "It's more than that. Did you have a single Alliance crew member who wanted to walk after you commandeered the Normandy and went to Ilos? I remember you giving anyone who wanted to go the opportunity to disembark."

He had to press in a little closer to her to hear her response. "No."

"Exactly. Everyone on that ship was loyal to  _you_. When the SR-1 was destroyed and you were declared KIA, I felt like I'd failed you, like, somehow, if I'd been there, I would have been able to keep it from happening. I think—no, I _know_ —that there were a lot of other people who were thinking the exact same thing when you didn't come back."

"Garrus—"

He stopped, gesturing her over to the side of the walkway where it was less crowded. "I'm serious, Shepard. You listen to your people. You support them. That's why they're willing to go farther for you than for anyone else. I tried to be like that with my squad on Omega, but my own personal goals got in the way. I wanted them to want what I did, but I was too focused on trying to wipe out every gang in the place to think about anything besides myself. I betrayed them, too. If I'd listened more… If I'd let the ones who wanted to walk away go when they'd had the chance…" He looked down at his hands, not wanting to see her expression. "Maybe things would have been different."

"Maybe they would have." Her fingers brushed his, and then she clasped his hand lightly in hers. "Maybe they wouldn't have. There's no point in trying to second guess it now. All you can do is move forward."

"I know." He looked up, finding her eyes with his own.

Shepard didn't let go of his hand and, when he looked down briefly at their entwined fingers and raised his brow plates questioningly at her, she merely shrugged, not releasing her grip on his hand in the slightest. "You want to go grab some lunch or something? This is our assigned shore leave cycle, after all. We might as well enjoy it."

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I'd like that very much."

**oOoOo**

Lunch had been enjoyable. They'd found a small café that looked out over one of the transport hubs and served a decent variety of both dextro and levo fare. Although he still felt a little self-conscious, intensely aware of every movement each one of them made, the conversation flowed as easily as always between them. He caught himself reaching across the table to touch her hands, just because he knew he could, and Shepard was doing the same. His injured mandible was starting to ache from the smile he couldn't seem to keep off his face.

"So, what should we do next?" Shepard asked. Pleasantly full from their lunch, they were now strolling through one of Nos Astra's many recreation districts. Despite the casualness of her demeanor, he could see Shepard's eyes picking through the crowds as they walked; lingering over every krogan face, though none looked familiar.

"I don't know… We could catch a movie. We could find a shooting range." He could tell from her expression that he had yet to hit on something that she was interested in doing. "Elcor pantomime?"

She raised an eyebrow skeptically. "So, if I picked that, you would actually go?"

"Well, not willingly… The shooting range or the movie would probably be okay…"

Shepard tried to maintain a serious expression, failed miserably, and laughed. "I have no desire to sit through an elcor pantomine. Don't worry. I think there's a market district close to here; we could wander through that. Or, I saw an ad for some sort of garden… conservatory… place that isn't far…"

Garrus hummed hesitantly. None of those options sounded particularly appealing either. Truthfully, he just wanted to spend more time with her like this; casual and relaxed, with nowhere in particular they had to go or needed to be. "What's closest to where we are now?"

"Shouldn't be too hard to find out. You want to let chance decide where we go?"

"Chance?"

"Yeah. We go to whatever's closest. No matter  _what_  it is." She grinned evilly.

"I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

"Probably." She shrugged. "But, that's half the fun."

Shepard stopped them when they encountered the next informational VI terminal. While she chatted with the holographic image, Garrus watched the people around them going about their business, though he didn't see anything that struck him as suspicious. Well, nothing suspicious for  _Illium_ , anyway, and he was relieved to see that no one seemed to be paying them any undue attention either.

Shepard turned back around to face him as the VI dimmed. "Brace yourself, big guy. The closest event to where we are right now is…" She paused dramatically.

"Please say it's not an elcor pantomime. I made that up. Please tell me those don't really exist." He knew the glint in her eyes altogether too well, and his subvocals wavered slightly as his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Nope!" Shepard gave him a wide grin. "It's a hanar poetry duel! An epic battle of wits between one who is called Ryzandris and one who is called Merchon! It's apparently some sort of hanar religious holiday for the next few days so there are quite a few of these planned."

"You can't be serious." He waited for her to tell him she was only joking.

Shepard looked at him expectantly, blinking up at him with a feigned expression of innocence.

She wasn't joking.

"Of course I'm serious. It could be… fun, if we just give it a chance." She spoke as if she was trying to convince herself as well as him. "And, we did agree to pick whatever was closest, and this is closest." She took his arm and propelled him back the way they had just come from. "Look, we'll sit right at the back. If it's really awful or takes forever, we can duck out. Besides, now we'll be able to say that we've been to one. How many non-hanar can say that?"

Garrus gave her a skeptical sideways glance. "I don't think that's much to brag about, Shepard. If anything, I don't think I'll be admitting this to anyone, pretty much ever."

"All the more reason to go then." She threaded her arm more tightly through his as she continued to drag him along. "It's being held a few floors up from here. Shall we?"

"All right. But, if this is as terrible as I think it's going to be, then you owe me one. Something big. Like a… flamethrower. Or a giant robot. With lasers. Something cool and dangerous."

"Oh, come on," she said, smiling again in the way that always made his heart flip flop in his chest, "how bad can it be?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to my beta, Josie Lange, for her mad beta skills, and thank you very much to everyone who has taken the time to read this. I appreciate your support! Thank you! :)


	11. This One Feels Like A Flower

'How bad can it be,' she'd asked... Garrus was afraid that he was about to learn the answer to Shepard's rhetorical question, whether he wanted to or not.

The auditorium was fairly small, seating approximately one or two hundred people, although the number in attendance was nowhere near that number. The seats wrapped around a semi-circular platform at the front of the room, and most of the occupied seats were the ones closest to the stage. Garrus and Shepard took seats in the very back—next to the exit, he was happy to note—and there was no one sitting even remotely close, which would hopefully allow them to carry on a conversation in whispers without disturbing anyone else.

The crowd was, unsurprisingly, primarily composed of hanar, although there were a handful of drell and asari as well. Two podiums had been set out on opposite sides of the stage, and a hanar stood—well, floated— beside each one; presumably, these were the two poetry duelists, although it wasn't clear which one was Ryzandris and which one was Merchon.

Three other hanar perched oddly on tall stools that had been set side-by-side at the back of the stage behind the podiums, and he guessed that they must be judges or officials of some sort… Not that he had any idea of how hanar poetry duels were supposed to go.

It looked… boring.

Excruciatingly boring.

The fact that Shepard's hand was now resting casually on his thigh, however, was distinctly  _not_  boring. It was so  _not boring_ , in fact, that he would have gladly sat through any number of hanar poetry duels, just for the opportunity to stay  _right here_. The only thing that would have made it better would have been a lack of armour on both their parts, but he wasn't about to complain.

Once everyone had taken their seats, the lights in the auditorium slowly dimmed until they were sitting in almost complete darkness; only the stage was illuminated by a handful of tiny globes spaced evenly around the curved edge of the platform. From the row of seats at the back of the stage, one hanar rose up and moved to stand between the two podiums.

"This one is pleased to see that so many have come to celebrate Nyahir, which some call First Cresting Bloom." The hanar rippled hypnotically in time with the words it was speaking. "It is a time to be thankful for the gift of speech, which the Enkindlers bestowed upon our people many, many cycles ago, and we show our thanks through events such as this one. Only the most skilled of hanar poets are chosen to compete during Nyahir and, in accordance with tradition, the name of the one who is deemed the winner today will have its name written in light, for all to see, on the rocky face of Mount Vassla on Kahje."

The hanar in the audience made murmurs of approval that sounded almost aqueous, and the hanar on stage paused until the noise had died down before it continued.

"The two competitors before us today are the one who is called Ryzandris," it pointed with one long tentacle at the hanar on the right, "and the one who is called Merchon." The tentacle shifted to point at the other hanar on the left hand side of the stage. Both Ryzandris and Merchon performed an elaborate rippling movement, tipping forward in a strange motion that resembled a bow, as they were introduced.

Garrus couldn't help fidgeting in his seat, stilling as the warmth of Shepard's breath ghosted over his ear canal. He nearly shivered at her proximity. "You planning to make a break for it, soldier?"

He leaned over to whisper in her ear. "Not a chance. I'm not breaking before you do."

She grinned and turned back to face the stage where the officiating hanar was expounding—in eye-watering detail—about the rules and permissible variants that were going to be allowed in this particular duel. Garrus debated about flipping on his omni-tool to check his messages, but the orange light would have been far too bright in the darkened room.

He could do this.

It wasn't medically possible to die of boredom, at least in theory.

He drummed his talons slowly on the arm of his seat until Shepard nudged his foot with her own. "You want to go?" she whispered.

He did—he really did—but it seemed disrespectful to leave before the poetry part had even started. "Not yet. I'm holding out for the duel. Maybe we'll be lucky and 'this one will allow weapons to be used.'

Shepard let out a near-silent huff of laughter.

Finally, the hanar in the center moved back to join the other two judges. Although it had been difficult to concentrate on the droning lull of the hanar's voice, Garrus had managed to pick up the basic format of the duel: the two competing hanar had been given a topic, 'On the Nature of Beauty,' and, now, they would each compose and deliver alternating stanzas. Unfortunately, he had no idea how long this would go on for, or what criteria would be used to determine the winner... He shuddered, hoping it wasn't based on sheer endurance.

The tiny globes lighting the stage winked out and the audience grew quiet, anticipating the commencement of the dual. Ryzandris rippled with a ghostly light, and began to speak.

" _One who has reflected upon the raging waters_

_Giving voice to the silence that breaks beneath the depths_

_Finds solace in unexpected treasures_

_That lie scattered on the sea bed's forgotten dreams."_

As it spoke, colour bloomed beneath the translucent flesh of its body; pulses of violet and delicate shades of bluish green, like sunlight dappling over the surface of the water, swirled down the length of each of its tentacles. It was mesmerizing. While Garrus had known that hanar supposedly communicated with bioluminescence, it wasn't something that was done often in front of other species, since it was impossible to interpret its nuances without significant ocular genetic modifications.

Merchon spoke next, its voice picking up perfectly where Ryzandris' had left off. Although Ryzandris was no longer speaking aloud, its illumination of colour continued during the other hanar's spoken stanza.

" _Light whispers in the darkness_

_Young ones swept by twisting currents_

_Boundless water reflecting skies above_

_This one drifts, buoyed by desolate stars."_

Merchon was awash with colour now, too, in a delicate counter-point to Ryzandris' fluttering variations and patterns.

"Fuck me," he heard Shepard murmur. "I had no idea they could look so beautiful."

"I know what you mean."

The hypnotic effect of the hanar's voices made him feel as though he were sinking into a comfortable dream, warm and safe; the vibrant hues rippling and shifting in the otherwise dark auditorium. Sometimes, they reminded him of the petals of a flower, cascading through his fingers to land on his mother's skirts like one of his earliest memories. She was smiling at him as he dashed off to find more; baby Solana burbling happily at her feet. Sometimes, they reminded him of the scales glimmering on the sides of a great fish, swimming through the inky blackness up to where they sat and then back down again.

"Garrus?" Shepard's voice was soft, almost too quiet for him to hear.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you." Her face was currently bathed in a pale blue light... almost the colour of his colony markings.

"For what?"

"I don't know, for humouring me, I guess. I know it sounds stupid, but I'm glad we came here."

"Me, too." He couldn't help himself, whether it was the particular colour of light just now, or simply that all of the emotions building inside of him had suddenly become too large to be contained any longer, but he leaned over and touched his forehead to hers. A careful brush at first—hesitant, but not unsure—then a firmer press to signify desire and affection; trust. His heart was thundering so loudly that he was sure she must be able to hear it.

"Garrus," she whispered again, and then her hands were sliding behind his head, and she wasn't pushing him away… she was pulling him closer.

In the darkness, her mouth met his… and his heart stopped completely.

_Spirits…_

Her lips were unbelievably soft against his mouth plates, and he was overwhelmed by her scent, by the moist warmth of her tongue seeking his; by the cool caress of her fingers that were sliding up his neck to the sensitive skin beneath his fringe. His own hands had moved to her armoured shoulders and it wasn't enough; he wanted to feel the firmness of her flesh beneath.

He could feel the way her breathing had become shallower, more rapid, and he was sure her heart was racing with a pace that matched his own. The thought of nuzzling into her jaw and licking the pulse point there was making it difficult to think of anything else, or even think of anything at all.

So, he did.

No regrets. No more wasted time.

Breaking the kiss, he slid his mouth over the curve of her cheek as his mandibles fluttered helplessly against the onslaught of need and want and yearning. If he hadn't been trying his hardest to be as quiet as possible, his subvocals would have been thrumming in every register. He inhaled deeply as he reached the juncture where her jaw met her neck, scraping his teeth there ever so carefully before sampling the same spot with his tongue. She trembled, and he felt, as well as heard, her sharp exhale; he felt it when the fingers beneath his fringe tightened, urging him closer. His throat was beginning to ache from holding back the rumbling groans that were building in his chest.

Reluctantly, he pulled away; suddenly aware of just how rough his own breathing had become. Her fingers trailed back down his neck as they parted although she didn't remove her hands completely, and they stopped at the edge of his armour that protected his carapace. As he came back to himself, he realized belatedly that the hanar were still taking turns to speak, and that the patterns of light and colour—thought different than before—were still rippling through their bodies.

Shepard leaned her face in close to the side of his, using her grip on his armour as leverage. "I don't know about you, but I'm thinking I've had enough of poetry for today, no matter how beautiful it is." With every word she whispered, her lips brushed his skin, and he was on fire.

"Likewise."

It was an effort not to scramble out the auditorium like a rabid varren.

In fact, it was only the presence of several people milling about in the lobby area that kept him from pressing her against the nearest wall and kissing her again. And again. Shepard's cheeks were deliciously flushed as she looked up at him and he knew his own eyes were just as hungry as hers.

Spirits, what was happening to him? Shepard was his best friend, that was nothing new, but, in the past twenty-four hours, it was like a slumbering beast had awoken inside him. How had he been so blind to these feelings for so long? Even now, he wasn't sure how deep they went, because he hadn't reached the bottom of them yet. There was still more there, beginning to stir and wake within him…

"Do you want to head back to the ship? We're both still off-duty for the next eighteen hours or so."

"And do… what exactly?" He felt like an idiot asking, but he didn't want to presume that she'd want to—

Shepard levelled a gaze at him that nearly made his knees buckle. "Oh, I think you can guess."

Yes. Yes, he could, and they needed to get back to the Normandy  _right now_.

"Why don't I see if I can get us a transport pick up from here? It would be faster. Much faster." He tapped the console on his omni-tool and it flared to life.

"I like the way you think, soldier." She glanced at the makeshift shop at the far end of the lobby. "There's one thing I want to do before we go, though. Be right back."

"Don't be long." The purr in his chest was impossible to fully suppress now as he bent over to nuzzle her cheek in return.

"Don't worry," she touched his uninjured mandible with the tip of her finger before stretching up to place a soft kiss where her finger had been, "I'm not going far." She walked away, giving him a glance and a grin over her shoulder, before striding purposefully towards the shop and vanishing through its doors.

Garrus quickly arranged for a transport—it would be there in just a few minutes—and leaned back against one of the walls as he waited, his arms crossed over his chest. He was beginning to think that the goofy-looking smile on his face was going to be there permanently… and he was very much okay with that.

**oOoOo**

Shepard shifted the bag from her left hand to her right as she passed back through the shop's doors and into the lobby. It had taken the clerk a minute to find a turian-sized shirt; Shepard had given up and selected an asari one for herself, since it would be close enough, and she hadn't wanted to waste the time hunting around for something sized specifically for humans. But, she was now the proud owner of two matching shirts emblazoned with: 'This One Has Attended a Poetry Duel and Has Only Received This Paltry T-Shirt in Compensation – First Cresting Bloom 2185.'

"Hey, big guy, check these out. You're going to be the envy of Engineering in this baby—"

She stopped.

The lobby was ominously devoid of people. Empty.

Garrus' visor lay on the floor, crushed into pieces by a seemingly careless boot.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Shepard ran for the exit, but the doors slid open to reveal nothing out of the ordinary. People stood chatting, strolling casually along the walkways. She looked frantically from side to side, scanning the crowds, but there was no sign of him.

Garrus was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Josie Lange, for the speedy beta and for always having time for me. *hug*
> 
> Thank you all for reading! I love hearing your thoughts and comments, and I appreciate your support so much. Thank you! :)


	12. Helpless

"I thought that the security on Illium was supposed to be among the best? What the hell could have happened to him?" Shepard was agitated, unable to keep herself from pacing. They'd been over this three times already and nothing seemed to be getting through to her. Liara knew she could easily blame her own roiling emotional state on too little sleep and the stim tablets she'd taken after Shepard and Garrus had left her office the first time, but even she could admit to herself that those were only convenient excuses.

"I wouldn't have expected you to be so naïve, Shepard," Liara snapped at her, lashing out at last with hard eyes that were as blazing and brittle as she felt. "Money and influence rule here, just like anywhere else."

Shepard enunciated each word slowly. "Then help me."

"I already  _said_  I would try; Garrus was…  _is_  my friend, too." She moved to stand behind her desk, tossing the datapad in her hands on to its surface with more force than necessary, taking a miniscule amount of satisfaction in the way it clattered noisily. "My resources are limited. I have to compensate my sources—especially if I'm pulling them off existing assignments—and I don't have those kinds of reserves. Not to mention that I have obligations to my employer and to my other clients. I  _know_  you want me to drop everything, but I…" Liara paused and rubbed her forehead with her slender fingers. "It's not like it was, Shepard. I don't have the freedom to just—"

"I don't care  _how_  much it costs! Do  _whatever_  it fucking takes! Anything! I need him back, Liara."

Liara leaned forward, bracing her hands on the surface of the desk. "I  _said_  I would do what I could. I'll put every source I can spare on it, but it's going to take credits and time."

Shepard threw up her hands. "We don't have time! Who knows what they're doing to him right now." She stormed forward, planting her own hands on the opposite side of the desk and leaning in. "Listen. I will pay  _whatever_  it takes for you to get the information as quickly as possible. Just do it. Now." She bowed her head, taking in a few shuddering breaths before looking back up to meet Liara's eyes. "Please. I can't lose him. I can't."

Liara let out a deep breath and slowly sank down into her chair, watching Shepard struggling to hold herself together. Icy fingers prickled and wormed their way into her heart, piercing her chest with their needle-tipped claws until she could barely breathe. "How long have you been in love with him?" She'd managed to keep her voice steady; a small victory.

Shepard went still. For the first time since she'd entered Liara's office, she was motionless.

Just when Liara had begun to think that she wasn't going to answer, she heard Shepard draw in a shaky breath, the words a quiet murmur as she exhaled. "I don't know. Since Omega… since before… I don't know."

Liara found herself reaching across the desk to place her hand on top of Shepard's. She'd nearly forgotten how much warmer Shepard's skin was, compared to her own, and she reluctantly forced aside the bitterness that now clung to those memories. It was disconcerting, almost frightening, to see Shepard so openly vulnerable.

Shepard glanced down at their overlapping hands, and Liara nearly missed the split second where her features seemed to crumple. "I need your help. I could find another information broker, but not one that I trust. Whatever you need in terms of credits, I'll make sure you have it."

Liara pulled her hand away, blinking the dampness from her eyes as her fingers slid across Shepard's in an inadvertent caress. "I'll help you find him, Shepard. I'll do everything I can."

They watched each other, the insurmountable expanse of the desk between them, before Shepard finally spoke. "Thank you."

Liara swallowed; her throat tight with words she would never say out loud. "We'll find him," she said instead. "I promise."

**oOoOo**

The message came in nearly eight hours later.

"Shepard here. What have you got for me, Liara?"

"I don't know who's behind this yet. I only have the names of the hired mercs so far, but I'm waiting to hear back from someone who might know more. The two krogan you injured are dead—their bodies were found by Illium Security earlier today in a waste receptacle in the medical district."

Shepard clutched the mangled pieces of Garrus' visor that she'd slipped into the pocket of her fatigues, grateful that the message had come through during a rare moment alone in the now empty briefing room. "Is that enough to work from? Can you—"

Liara cut her off. "I have more than that. Garrus was loaded on to a ship approximately five hours ago."

"What? Do you know where it's headed?"

Liara's words made her whole body go cold; the ghostly hiss of her damaged air supply echoing in her ears.

"Omega. They're taking him back to Omega."

**oOoOo**

Garrus stirred, vaguely aware that his movement was restricted although his thoughts were too muddled for him to be able to fully process why that was. Trying to think was pointless; he couldn't concentrate for more than a second or two at a time and it seemed like far more effort than it was worth.

There was a bitter, chemical-like taste in his mouth and the inside of his nasal passages, and his throat was dry enough that it burned whenever he reflexively tried to swallow.

His head was throbbing with each pulse of his heartbeat, the sound hammering woodenly in his ears. He kept his eyes clenched tightly closed, trying to block out even the smallest glimmer of the dim light in the room… not that it helped.

His left side hurt, shooting sharp jabs of pain through his ribs if he attempted to shift his position.

Not good.

His thoughts always seemed to get to that point and then stop.

_Not good._

He needed to… do something. Warn—find—someone…

A groan escaped from the confines of his throat, his subvocals betraying his confusion and distress.

There were footsteps— _not good, not good, not good_ , his brain chanted—and then something smashed into his jaw in an explosion of agony that made the darkness behind his eyes blaze white.

He might have whimpered, and then he didn't remember any more.

**oOoOo**

There was nothing she could do right now.

Nothing.

Shepard pounded her fists against the heavy bag in the Normandy's exercise room, keeping her eyes focused on the targets marked with swatches of duct tape—old-fashioned, but effective. Head. Body. Groin. She snapped a few punches at the bag, shifted defensively, and then let off another flurry of punches aimed at the bag's midsection.

There was  _nothing_  more she could be doing, and it was impossible to concentrate on anything else. They were on their way to Omega, and she trusted that Joker and EDI had mapped out the fastest course possible. Liara was still trying to find out the rest of the specifics. Who was behind the abduction, and why? What was the connection to Archangel? Where on Omega was he being taken?

Her hair was already soaked with sweat, and it was running into her eyes and down her neck, seeping into her shirt and expanding the borders of the wet stains on the small of her back and around her collar. She'd been at it for an hour or two now, and on the treadmill before that, and her muscles were nearly numb with exhaustion. With a snarl, she slammed three or four more punches at the bag before she finally stilled; bent forward, bracing her hands on her knees, as she gulped in air.

It was late, well past the start of the night cycle shift, but her cabin still had a half-full case of dextro beer sitting on the floor and an unmade bed and two towels hanging to dry in the bathroom instead of one… She couldn't face that. She couldn't.

Grabbing her bottle of water from the bench that ran along the length of the wall, Shepard pressed the cool sides of the container to her cheeks, neck, and forehead before taking a long drink. She set it back down on the bench and moved to the dark blue mats that covered one corner of the floor. It felt good to stretch—her limbs were already starting to feel tired and heavy—and she ran through several of the standard Alliance close combat drills, letting her body flow naturally from one movement into the next.

When she finally reached the point where her body was trembling with the exertion she'd been putting it through, Shepard snagged her water bottle once more and sunk down to sit cross-legged on the mats as she slowly drank what was left. After a quick, cool shower in the communal shower area—nearly empty due to the lateness of the hour—she headed for the mess and a reheated MRE. She deliberately sat with her back to the main battery, unwilling to face that room either. That was the last thing she remembered until Tali was suddenly shaking her gently.

"Shepard? Are you all right?"

Shepard lifted her head off of her arms and sat up, her back protesting at the awkward angle. She'd been slouched over the table in the mess for who knew how long. "Tali? What time is it?"

"Nearly 0500." The quarian slid into the seat next to hers. " _Keelah_ , you look terrible."

"Yeah, well, might as well match my appearance to how I'm feeling." Shepard sighed, rubbing her hands over her face. "I was hoping Liara would have had something by now."

"Nothing yet?"

Shepard shook her head. "I've got my omni-tool set to put through any message from her on the highest priority ranking. We've still got about…," she paused for a moment, calculating, "nine hours before we reach Omega, but I have no idea where we're going from there. It could be just a drop off point and they're going to switch him on to another ship going somewhere else entirely." She rubbed her eyes again. "I guess we go talk to Aria first, if Liara doesn't have anything else for us to go on by the time we dock."

"We're with you, Shepard. Whatever you need."

"I know. Thanks." She tried to smile at Tali, but wasn't quite able to pull it off. "It means a lot."

"Have you slept at all? I mean, besides the nap you were having here in the mess?"

Shepard rolled her right shoulder, trying to ease the residual ache. "I've tried," that part wasn't exactly true, "but, I just… can't."

"I can't pretend to know what you're going through. I… know how much Garrus means to you. To all of us. But, I know that's not the same thing…" Tali twisted the fabric of her hood between her fingers as she talked, betraying her own agitation. "If there's anything I can be doing right now to help, you just have to ask."

"I wish there was." Shepard stood up reluctantly with a sigh that turned into a groan as her stiff muscles protested the movement. The words that had been circling her thoughts, snapping and tearing off bloody gobs of flesh like vultures feasting on carrion, came out of her mouth. "There's nothing more we can do right now."

Nothing.

Maybe they were already too late.

Maybe he was already dead, and now she was going to have to face the empty, endless days without him just as he'd had to do.

Her tongue tasted like the scorched and acrid fumes of the Normandy falling to pieces, its bones picked clean by the stars.

She nodded at Tali, not trusting herself to speak, and walked off as if she had somewhere to go.

**oOoOo**

Garrus' thoughts were clearer when he woke this time and he opened his eyes carefully, just enough to squint at his surroundings. He could feel that his arms and legs were still bound in some way, and his limbs ached with a dull, heavy numbness. His armour had been stripped off, leaving him in only his undersuit.

With his tongue, he felt along the points of his teeth in his lower jaw; at least three or four were broken. He was fairly sure his jaw was broken as well, based on the jolts of pain that radiated into his cheek bones when he flexed his mouth plates or shifted his mandibles. His left side was throbbing, sharp and hot, if he inhaled too deeply; broken ribs or a fractured carapace. Either way, he wasn't in great shape to attempt any sort of escape.

Garrus listened for a long time, peering at the room through just the slits of his eyes. Only when he was absolutely sure he was alone, did he open his eyes fully and look around. He was in a small room—likely a storage area of some kind. Several unmarked crates were stacked against one wall and, if he craned his head around as far as his restraints and injuries would allow, he could see a bench with some pieces of what he assumed to be armour—not his—stacked on top of it. There was no sign of Shepard, a chill sinking into his gut at the thought that she could be imprisoned here—somewhere—as well. But, even if she was here  _and_  he knew where she was, getting to her would be impossible.

He was lying on the floor, and he could see now that his hands and feet were trussed with a sophisticated metal cuff, much better than the equipment they'd used at C-Sec. If he wriggled, he would probably be able to make it to the bench, although he couldn't imagine that it would do any good. The cuffs not only immobilized his limbs, but the two restraints were also linked together; bending him backward at an awkward angle with the cuffs on his wrists connected to the cuffs around his ankles with a short length of metal alloy fiber cabling. There was no way he would be able to crawl, let alone stand.

Garrus twisted back around, ignoring the pain in his side, to examine the door. It was unremarkable, with a standard type of access panel set into the wall next to it. The activation interface in the center of the door itself was glowing red—locked—which didn't come as much of a surprise. He let his head slump back down to rest on the floor, unsure of what more he could do now. It looked like he was stuck waiting for whoever had done this to him before he would have any more answers. As to why, he had more than a few likely candidates; the Suns, Eclipse, the Blood Pack, or any one of a handful of smaller gangs that 'Archangel' had interfered with. They were going to kill him; he had little doubt about the likelihood of that, too. If they had Shepard, then they—

He swallowed roughly, not allowing himself to finish the thought. If these were the same krogan that had threatened them at that club, they'd only seemed to care about Archangel and hadn't shown any interest in Shepard at all. Although, she  _had_  crippled two of them, which could probably have pissed them off enough that they would have grabbed her, too, given the opportunity…

The last thing that he remembered was a cloth being pressed over his mouth and nose, and then being pulled and dragged into a transport vehicle of some kind. Shepard had gone… somewhere… and he was sure she hadn't come back before that point. His memories in the transport were hazy at best, but he would have remembered if Shepard had been there. Wouldn't he?

With his cheek pressed against the cool metal floor, Garrus gradually realized that he could feel a gentle vibration across his mandible. A ship. He was on a ship. As much as he was trying to stay calm and think clearly, it was impossible to deny the fear that was prickling through him. The odds of coming back from this one weren't in his favour at all.

Steeling himself, Garrus stared fixedly at the door, and waited.

**oOoOo**

He didn't have to wait long, as it turned out.

Garrus felt their footsteps through the floor before the panel on the doors had even shifted to green, and he knew there was no sense pretending to still be unconscious. He wanted to know who was behind this. He glared defiantly at the doors, waiting for them to slide open.

While he'd expected to see the krogan—the uninjured pair from the night club—he hadn't expected to see an asari with them. He didn't recognize her, though she looked at him disdainfully, as if he was something unpleasant that she'd just scraped off the bottom of her expensive-looking boots.

"You're awake. Good." The two sneering krogan stopped just inside the doorway, but she strolled in confidently and crouched down in front of him. He stayed still and silent, watching her. "What? You're not going to ask who I am? Beg for your life? Offer to pay me?" She smiled then, sitting back in her haunches to stare at him more closely. "You  _are_  going to be fun, aren't you?"

Garrus waited, hoping she might give more away about where they were headed or, if they had Shepard as well. The asari stood up, unfurling in a delicate motion, before walking a slow circuit around him. It didn't take her long, as the room was so small. The pair of krogan standing in the doorway just snorted, but reminded otherwise silent. Garrus deliberately kept his head steady, his gaze centered on the doors; not giving her the satisfaction of attempting to watch where she was going.

She stopped in front of him again, speaking gently as if they were having a pleasant conversation. "I suppose you don't even know why you're here. That's nice. I think surprises are so much more enjoyable, don't you?" When he didn't answer, she sighed and gave a small, callous sort of shrug. "Suit yourself."

The asari walked slowly around until she was standing behind him once more. He could hear the sound of something being moved or picked up off of the bench that he could no longer see. "But, just for my own satisfaction, I think I'd like to hear you admit who you are. It's only fair, really." She completed another circuit around him, stopping in front of him once again, although she was now carrying a thin, flexible metal wand that she was swinging in a graceful arc. "Let's start with something easy. Why don't you tell me your name?"

Garrus tried to keep his eyes from following the tip of the wand. While he wasn't sure exactly what it was, he was reasonably sure that it wasn't good.

"See, now you're not being polite. Shall we see if this helps?" She looked at him questioningly; her eyes dark. "It certainly appears that some correction is in order." On its next arc, the wand swung down, connecting with a spot on his shoulder. It was somehow attuned to her biotic power, and her energy poured downward into him, pooling in his veins and spreading; contaminating his tissue.

It burned.

It burned as if every nerve ending in his body had been disrupted, sending waves of pain so overwhelming that his eyes closed involuntarily as his muscles spasmed. From the far recesses of his mind, he could feel a foreign consciousness pressing against his own; needles of an outside awareness invading and violating his mind.

He might have been screaming—there was only pain that climbed higher and higher as it crested—and he could feel her presence slipping through his thoughts; greasy and slick with  _wrongness_.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.

Garrus could have wept. As he came back to himself, he realized he was rocking, whimpering, moaning. It hurt…  _he_  hurt. But, she was out of his mind, and the relief was intense as he gorged his lungs with air as if he'd been drowning. It took several minutes before he was able to open his eyes.

His shoulder was still on fire, although the pain wasn't radiating through his entire body as it had been before. Where the wand had touched him, his undersuit was burned away; the scorched edges of the fabric seared into his skin around an open welt that was beginning to seep blue.

"Did you wish to speak now?" The asari held the wand still as she waited for him to answer, but he stubbornly remained silent. He wasn't going to give her anything, not if Shepard could be at risk, too. "No? Well, remember that this was your choice."

With a delicate motion, her wrist extended neatly and the tip of the wand landed on the sensitive tissue between the lower part of his neck and his carapace. Garrus  _knew_  he was screaming this time, agony sparking through his chest and into his sluggish limbs. Once more, her consciousness slid across his; broken glass shredding the surface of his mind as she attempted to probe deeper. It went on and on; his eyes nearly rolling back into his head as he seizured. Still bound by the restraints around his wrists and ankles, his back bowed even further.

This time, when she finally lifted the wand from his flesh, he vomited; there was little left in his stomach, but he heaved over and over all the same. He wished he could curl forward, but the metal cabling that linked the cuffs together behind his back prevented that sort of movement.

He lost track of how many more times it happened.

There had been a few more touches to his chest and shoulders before she'd moved to his back, his neck, his legs. She didn't seem to be angry at his refusal, serenely flicking the thin rod at him again and again. He might have been able to withstand the pain, but the sharp claws of her mind patiently digging and gouging into his own was becoming too much to bear.

It came out this time, an unconscious surrender like another dry heave from his empty stomach. "Vakarian." He could barely choke the name out through his clenched jaws. "Vakarian." He was whimpering, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but making the pain stop. "Garrus."

"No, not that name." The asari regarded him sadly. "That's not the name we want." She flicked the tip of the wand, almost—but not quite— grazing his chest and he flinched back with an involuntary moan. "Do you need some help?"

Garrus shook his head almost imperceptibly back and forth.  _No_.

The wand came down, brushing against his already weeping flesh with the lightest of strokes.

Spirits help him, it  _hurt_. It hurt and he wanted it to stop. What did it matter—they were going to kill him anyway… It didn't matter. It didn't matter what he did…

"Archangel." The word came out as a sharp groan.

The wand lifted and the sharpest pain dissipated, leaving him panting and weak and broken.

"There." The asari smiled, and then crouched down to look at him. She trailed her fingers down his jaw in a caress that filled him with revulsion. "Was that so hard?" His shudder made her smile grow wider, showing off her perfectly spaced white teeth. "I think my mother is going to be very pleased to properly make your acquaintance. You're going to be polite to her, aren't you?" She patted his cheek lightly as he nodded as best as he was able, his eyes never leaving the wand. "Of course you are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to my beta, Josie Lange, for helping me untangle my awkward, rambling sentences and for making this story so much better.
> 
> Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to all of you out there reading and commenting, and for all of your support. It means more than I could ever say. Thank you.


	13. Hold On

They mercifully left him alone afterward, and Garrus lay shivering on the floor; mentally and physically worn down. He dozed fitfully, a handful of snatched minutes when the exhaustion was too much to stave off, only to wake each time with a terrifying rush of adrenaline and fear. The pain from his numerous injuries was impossible to ignore and there was no position that he could shift himself into that would ease the cramping dullness in his restrained limbs. He was thirsty, too; parched enough that his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth and his throat burned uncomfortably.

He  _had_  to hope that Shepard wasn't trapped here, somewhere, along with him. It was surreal to think that, only hours ago—or days… he wasn't sure how much time had really passed—they'd been at that hanar poetry duel. And she'd kissed him, and he'd kissed her back… How had one of the best days of his entire life—no,  _the_  best day in his life so far— turned into one of the worst? Was it so much to ask that  _something_  go right? For once? Apparently it was…

Garrus shifted again, not that it helped, hissing as a sharp spike of pain gradually ebbed back into a dull throb. He lay there for a long time, listening to the uneven sound of his own breathing. There had to be a way out of this, even if it wasn't obvious right now. He just needed to think, just needed a plan. The asari was too powerful, but maybe the krogan could be bought off? Manipulated? His subharmonics rumbled with frustration.

The slight vibration of the ship's engines against his cheek had become familiar, so its sudden absence made his thoughts scramble to an abrupt stop. Wherever they were taking him, it seemed that they had arrived.

He steeled himself to wait once more—trying to think of  _anything_  besides the asari—but he found himself unable to breathe, his heart racing, as the panel on the door turned from red to green. The terror of the wand sweeping down, igniting every nerve as his mind railed against the foreignness of her presence, was making him tremble; his subvocals a distressed hum of fear.

It was just the two krogan… at least for now.

Both still wore the same unmarked armour they'd worn the first time he'd seen them in the club on Illium. He sagged wearily, the tenseness in his muscles dissipating, as the seconds ticked by and the asari didn't follow them into the room. The prospect of more physical pain was easier to bear than the thought of facing the attack against his mind, too.

"Delivery time, turian." The krogan that had spoken appeared to be the one in charge, clearly older than the other, with a darker and more pronounced frontal plate. He smirked and elbowed the younger one. "As much as I'd like to damage the merchandise a bit more."

The younger one shrugged and sneered. "He'll get what's coming to him. I just hope we get to watch. Never liked turians much."

"Come on. Let's getting him packed up. Allessa's already gone on ahead."

Working together, they hauled one of the unmarked crates out from the rest of the pile. On closer inspection, Garrus could see that it was a metal shipping container, possibly intended for livestock or live animal transport, as there were several small circular holes, about half the size of his palm, covered with crosshatched bars for ventilation along one side. There was an access interface on the top of the lid, and the older krogan tapped away at it for a minute before the seals holding the lid in place released with a series of clicks. The younger krogan then removed it at the older one's instructions, propping it against the wall.

"Now, to make sure you don't cause any trouble." The older krogan left the room for a moment, leaving him with the younger one, who was staring at him with obvious malice in his eyes.

Garrus almost laughed; a wheezy chuckle that was more of a groan. What could they possibly think he could do, in the condition that he was in?

"What are you laughing at?" The younger krogan walked over and placed a booted foot on top of Garrus' chest, pressing just hard enough to make him grimace from the pain in his fractured carapace. "Not so tough, now, are you?"

"Go to hell," Garrus managed to get out, although the words were so dry and raspy that they were scarcely intelligible.

The older one stomped back into the room. "He try to start something?"

"Yeah," the young krogan said, letting his boot dig in a little more—Garrus glared back, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of anything that could be interpreted as submission—before releasing him.

"He won't be able to after this." He was holding a medi-injector, Garrus noticed numbly. "Hold him if he moves," he leered at the younger one, "and don't be gentle."

Garrus struggled as best he could, but the older krogan had no trouble twisting his head to the side and pressing the medi-injector against the thinner skin of his neck. His subvocals betrayed his rising panic, his anger, his pain. What could he possibly do? Even if he  _could_  manage to get out of the restraint system, it would take time before his body would be able to move or stand again. He needed a weapon, needed some advantage he just hadn't thought of yet…

Whatever they had injected him with felt cold at first, and Garrus could feel the drug's progress as it slithered and prickled down the veins in his throat to coil in his chest. The initial burst of coolness gave way to pleasant sort of warmth, blunting the sharp peaks of his discomfort and distress with a mellow half-awareness. He was still awake, but his mind was oddly… serene.

Blissful.

Together, the two krogan hoisted him roughly up and into the crate. He knew that it hurt—he'd even whimpered as they'd dropped him—and it was a tight fit, especially with his arms bound behind him, but that was okay, too. They were just doing what was best.

The lid went on next, casting the confined space into darkness and shadows. Now that he was inside it, he could see that the small, barred ventilation holes lined both sides of the box, and light filtered through them to leave tiny spots of brighter illumination. The miniature patches of light seemed to flicker and dance over the length of his body, reminding him of the swarms of glowing  _cicindelae_  that had heralded the end of long summer evenings; the sound of his mother's voice on the wind, telling him it was time to come inside  _right now_  after repeated pleas of 'just five more minutes.' The waving grasses had tickled his plates as he'd lain on his back, watching the shimmering insects merging with the stars overhead. Solana, unable to keep her exclamations of delight even  _remotely_  quiet, had always given them away to his mother's keen hearing.

The crate was swaying now, and Garrus could hear the two krogan talking, but it was like he was listening to them from a long distance away and none of the words made sense at all. The lull of their voices washed comfortably over him as he stared blankly through the mesh of one of the ventilation holes. He was bumped and jostled again before being set down with an audible thunk, and then there was more talking and he was moving. The ride was smooth and even, and the light from the ventilation holes cut in and out, winking like stars.

In the back of his mind, Garrus knew he should be alarmed, should be afraid, should be paying more attention… But, did it really matter where they were taking him?

At some point later, he woke up, having been soothed to sleep by the gentle rocking, but the crate was still and motionless now. There was more talking from far away—different voices, female voices—and then the lid was being pulled back and bright light flooded in. He flinched against the onslaught and the loss of the comforting shadows, snapping his eyes tightly closed.

"Get him out of there, and get that shit out of his system," said a feminine voice that sounded far too loud.

His body jerked upwards as a surge of biotic energy lifted him up and out before dumping him carelessly onto the floor. He lay there happily listening to the voices arguing about medi-injectors and who had the right one and that krogan were a fucking waste of space. Once his eyes had adjusted to the brightness, Garrus opened them, blinking slowly a few times.

There were a handful of asari, all wearing a type of armour that struck him as being very beautiful and oddly familiar, though he couldn't place it; definitely not your average off-the-shelf Elkoss suit. Some were standing around; one was using her biotics to restrain the younger krogan while another kicked the older krogan, who was similarly restrained, in the quad. Repeatedly. To his credit, the krogan was merely groaning each time her boot made contact and not full-out screaming.

The older krogan fell to his knees as the asari that had been kicking him released her hold. "Go back and get it. Now. We told you we didn't want him drugged." The krogan nodded, staggering to his feet and hobbling out the door with the younger one at his heels.

The asari marched over to examine him, and he belatedly realized that it was the same one from the ship although she was wearing silver armour rather than civilian clothes this time. She smiled at him. She was always smiling. That was nice. "Hello, Archangel. Are you ready? It's a shame you don't look more presentable."

He should have been afraid, but he smiled up at her instead. The pain in his jaw wasn't  _that_  bad and he had a vague recollection that he was supposed to be polite. Looking around, they appeared to be in some sort of warehouse. The floors and walls were made of concrete—spalling and cracked—that had been haphazardly painted white, and shelves piled high with dusty boxes were arranged in rows that took up the bulk of the large area. Garrus wondered vaguely if they were still on Illium, but then he remembered the sensation of being on a ship, and then he remembered that it didn't really matter anyway.

The asari was no longer looking at him, but was instead frowning at the door that the two krogan had vanished through. Her arms were crossed over her chest; her fingers drumming impatiently. After a few minutes, she left him there, walking over to speak to the other asari. They were talking too quietly for him to be able to hear them very well, although he was able to make out the odd word. Mother. Last. Ready. His fringe was positioned awkwardly against the floor, and he wriggled a little, but it didn't seem to make any difference so he gave up.

Some of the asari in the matching armour left and, a short while later, the two krogan returned. "Finally." The asari's voice was snapping and harsh. "Bring it here."

The older krogan handed over a medi-injector, clearly not intimidated by her despite her earlier treatment. "Here. Next time, be more specific. We wouldn't have drugged him if you'd told us not to. No harm done. This will neutralize the effects."

She took it, examining the dosage indicator. "This is already adjusted to the appropriate skin penetration level?"

"Yes."

"Good." She glanced over at the three asari who had remained behind and gave a slight nod. There was a burst of blue energy, and the two krogan were held in place beneath a flickering aura, unable to move. "You can stay there until I've verified that this worked."

The asari approached his position on the floor, her boots echoing hollowly with each step. "We can't have you like this, now can we?" she murmured. "You need to be properly afraid. Just like she was." Leaning down, she placed the nozzle of the medi-injector against his neck and pressed the dispenser. "Now, we wait." She stood up and folded her arms back over her chest.

Garrus looked back at her, his subvocals trilling his contrite confusion about what he was supposed to be doing and what was expected. Ever so slowly, like mist receding, true awareness began to claw at the edges of his mind. As he stared at her, the memories of her earlier interrogation grew more solid, more real. He could feel his heart rate increasing, feel his breathing becoming more shallow and rapid, as his body instinctively reacted to her presence before his fully conscious thoughts had had the chance to catch up. His eyes darted to her hands, to the other asari, to the krogan, to the rest of the room. No wand. He couldn't see the wand, but that didn't mean that it wasn't here somewhere. He wasn't safe. They were going to kill him.

At least he didn't see Shepard. Surely, if they'd had her, she would be here now. He allowed himself the luxury of seeing the positive side of things, just this once, and tried to believe that she was safe.

The asari smiled at his distress. "How are you feeling now?" She looked at him with feigned concern and he couldn't help his reflexive flinch as she crouched down to examine him, pulling at the tissue surrounding each of his eyes as she studied his pupils. "Better."

She stared at him for a moment, not speaking, and then stood up once more, eyeing the two krogan thoughtfully. "You're lucky. If he'd been permanently damaged, I assure you that this would have been a lot worse." The asari strolled up to where they were immobilized, calmly meeting each one's eyes in turn. "Believe me when I say that there are things worse than dying."

With that, she slid a shotgun from its holster at her back and pressed the barrel to the older krogan's forehead, in the vulnerable area just below the thick frontal plate, and fired. Even with the biotic field holding him in place, the krogan's head rocked back with the force of the impact; the explosion of orange fluid and splatter hanging frozen in the haze of blue. Without pausing, the asari took a few steps to her left and aimed and fired again, slaughtering the younger krogan with the same cold matter of factness.

"That's better." She nodded at the other asari and the energy holding the two krogan in place dissipated. They fell to the floor with a sickening, wet thud. Although Garrus had certainly seen his fair share of men being shot and killed—hell, how many deaths had  _he_  been directly responsible for over the last fifteen years?—the asari's casual air of brutality and lack of emotion was chilling all the same.

"I think it's time you met my mother, don't you?" Her face was covered in tiny droplets of orange blood, almost like the freckled brow plates that he'd used to tease Solana about when they were kids. At least his parents would have _her_  to care for them as they aged… Now, even with his mother as sick as she was, he was going to beat her to it. His subharmonics resonated with a soft note of regret. He should have made the time to go back. He should've been there when she'd needed him the most.

Even though the effects of the drug they'd given him had faded, Garrus still felt some measure of the calmness it had imbued him with. This was no different than when he'd been holed up in his sniper's nest on Omega, expecting—waiting—for death. He would meet it head on, whatever it was.

"Let's go." The asari smiled. How he hated that damn smile. "We don't want to be late."

**oOoOo**

They were less than an hour out from Omega when Shepard's omni-tool began to ping loudly. Her hands were shaking as she brought up the holographic interface.

"Shepard." A miniaturized copy of Liara's form materialized on her wrist.

She knew she sounded desperate, but she didn't care. "Please, tell me you have something."

"I have two pieces of information for you. The first is a name: Velaria T'Naris. She's the one who hired the mercs who took Garrus."

Shepard leaned closer to the flickering orange image. "Do you know anything about her?"

Liara nodded. "A little. I'm pulling all the information I can find on her now, but I didn't think you'd want me to wait until I had everything before contacting you. She's an asari. Has her hands in a wide variety of businesses and trades; some legal, some not." She paused, tapping something into a terminal that wasn't visible in Shepard's image of her. "Comes from a highly influential family on Thessia."

Frowning, Shepard thought for a moment. "So, why would she care about Garrus? What's the connection to Archangel?"

"I don't know that yet. I'm looking into the businesses she's involved with. Maybe Archangel interfered with one of her shipments, her businesses, her contacts... It's too early to do more than speculate."

"Any of those are possible… Is she affiliated with any of the major gangs? The Suns killed the rest of his squad, but Eclipse and the Blood Pack were pissed off enough that they were all working together to bring him down at the end."

"Not that I'm aware of, but there could be ties somewhere, buried under legitimate corporations."

Shepard mulled this information over for a minute, but no other obvious conclusions or observations came to her. "What's the second thing?"

"Something more useful—a location. A building in the Kima District. They've taken him there, at least for now. I'll upload the details and exact coordinates to your omni-tool."

Shepard took a deep breath. Finally, something was going right. They knew where Garrus was. Now, they just needed to get there in time. "Thanks, Liara. I owe you one."

"It's okay, Shepard. Just… get him back."

"I will," she vowed. "Whatever it takes."

Liara cut the connection and her image vanished, leaving Shepard skimming through the coordinates, building schematics, and a limited amount of documents describing Velaria's investments and business ventures. She didn't even look up, blindly walking towards the elevator as she studied the information that Liara had provided.

"EDI, tell the ground team to assemble in the briefing room. As quickly as possible. We have less than half an hour before we need to start suiting up, and I want to make the most of it."

"Understood, Shepard."

Shepard was already humming with adrenaline as she touched the tip of her finger to the various entry and exit points on the floating image of the building schematics. "I'm coming, Garrus," she whispered. "Hold on."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in getting this chapter finished and posted. I'm fighting through another bout of pneumonia at the moment, and it's been a rough week. Thank you to all of you out there reading for your support and encouragement. It's very much appreciated.
> 
> Major cookies and kudos to my beta, Josie Lange, for all her advice with this chapter. Your suggestions were right on, as always, and made this so much better. Thank you!


	14. Omega Redux

To Garrus' surprise, the asari removed the cuffs from his ankles, leaving just his hands cuffed and restrained behind his back. While the ability to properly straighten his back out of its unnaturally bowed position was a welcome one, the pinched nerves coming back to life in his feet and legs left him in agonizing cramps. She hauled him to his feet with her biotics, saying nothing each time as he collapsed to the floor and the process was repeated.

When he could stand and take a few steps without his knees buckling, the asari seemed satisfied. "Let's go."

Garrus managed a few more faltering steps towards the door as the other three asari moved into position around him; one on each side and one right behind him. He could feel the slight pressure of their biotic energy helping to hold him upright. The one walking behind him was resting the barrel of her weapon against the lower segment of his spine. Even if he'd been physically able to run, he wouldn't have stood a chance of escaping.

He was marched slowly through the door and into an alleyway that was disturbingly familiar.

Omega.

The irony of coming back here to die—again—was almost enough to make him laugh. The turian name for this place was  _Mundo'sine Lex_ , meaning 'the world without laws,' but he had always thought that the asari name for it was the most appropriate:  _Kol ni'Ghiara_ , or 'the heart of evil.' Although, at this  _exact_  moment, he found it extremely fitting that Omega meant 'the end' in human cultures. Truly, it was all these things, this space station that seemed determined to be the embodiment of his own personal hell.

The alleyway was dim and strewn with refuse, littered with used condoms and the tiny plastic bags that dealers used to portion out red sand and other illicit substances. The group shuffled along slowly, forced to move at Garrus' pace. He knew now where they were probably headed, and it wasn't far. Looking up, he recognized the battered metal ladders, mostly rust, that clung to the sides of the buildings. He noted each boarded up window, like eyes shut closed, as they passed. Oh, yes, he knew where they were taking him…

As they neared the end of the alleyway, where the passage connected with a slightly larger corridor, a lone vorcha swung around the corner and froze as he spotted them. He bared his teeth as he sized them up. "Are you looking for—?"

"We're looking for you to mind your own business." The asari considered him briefly, then raised her shotgun and blew a hole in his chest. The vorcha hadn't even had time to turn away, crumpling to the ground with a wet gurgle. "If you will excuse us."

They walked on, stepping over the bleeding corpse as they went; just another piece of garbage left to rot in the streets.

**oOoOo**

The door itself was new, made of reinforced metal, although the access panel interface appeared to be the one that had been there originally. Garrus wasn't surprised by the new door, considering that the previous one had been smashed in and ripped away from its sliding tracks. He  _was_  marginally surprised that they hadn't bothered to replace the access panel; though, if they'd left the building as it was, then there was nothing inside that was worth taking anyway. The last time he'd been here… it had only been months, but it felt like it had been years; felt like it had been only yesterday.

If the three asari that flanked him hadn't been pressing him forward, he would have stopped there. The asari with the shotgun, the one who had used that biotic-enhancing wand, the one whose smiles made him shudder with revulsion, keyed in the access code and the door slid open. It was dark inside, with a faint glow beyond, and he almost pushed back then, not wanting to go any further. He almost begged, almost said 'please,' but he couldn't. This was his own weakness to face, and he would meet it head on before he died.

The group stepped into the darkness of the abandoned warehouse and into the darkness of his nightmares. The place still reeked with a musty dampness that clung to his lungs and, although he wasn't sure if he was just imagining it, Garrus thought he could smell the taint of old blood that hung in the air. Having walked this way so often in the visions that his mind had conjured up for him was making everything that was happening now feel even more surreal. Maybe this was all a dream, too…

He remembered how the narrow entryway opened up into a larger area where they had set up equipment lockers, a few makeshift shower receptacles, and an eating area with a large table; big enough to seat them all for long nights of Ryncol shots and games of Skyllian Five. In the back, there was a heavy door that opened into the empty loading bay as well as a set of stairs that led up to a partially-enclosed loft—a half wall ran around its perimeter—that overlooked the main area. The loft had once been the warehouse's office area, but they'd converted it into sleeping quarters with bunks along the back outside wall. He tried to remember it as it was—before—not like it had been the last time he'd been here.

The main area was dimly lit, and he could pick more and more details out of the shadows as they got closer. The lockers, the showers, the table and chairs… everything had been upended, tossed, wrecked. Fragments of plastic and metal, the remnants of what had been here before, crunched beneath their feet as they walked. There were too many feet walking this time, so the sounds he heard now didn't sync up with the ones in his memories. When he'd arrived here the last time—too late, always too late—it had been just his own footsteps through the debris, before he'd known what horrors lay inside.

At the bottom of the stairs stood the group of asari that had been sent on ahead, all of them clad in golden-coloured light armour that matched the three that were still helping him stay upright. The sudden revelation struck him like a shot between the eyes.

Of course he'd seen this armor before.

The security team that had ejected them from Paradise, the night club on Illium.

From the top of the stairs, another asari descended. Though she wore armor this time, her crest was still adorned with the same jeweled bands that he remembered; her forehead and cheeks marked with the same swirling tattoos.

"You've done well, Allessa." She nodded at the asari standing in front of him, who then stepped aside, revealing him fully to the gaze of the jeweled asari. She approached the group with slow deliberate steps, her eyes examining him as she waved away the three other asari that had been holding him up.

Garrus very nearly toppled to his knees as the energy supporting him suddenly dissipated. The jeweled asari smiled then; the similarity between mother and daughter was eerie and frightening.

"Hello, Archangel." She waited a moment for him to respond and, when he didn't, her smile dampened slightly. "Is it good to be home? You do recognize this place, I trust." She motioned at their surroundings, frowning at his continued silence. "You will speak when spoken to, turian."

"I can… provide sufficient encouragement, if you like." Allessa looked from her mother to Garrus and back again. "He was more than happy to converse with me after a few hours with this." From a compartment in her armour, the slender wand appeared.

It was an effort not to recoil and he clenched his jaw tightly, focusing on the sudden white-hot pain to keep his mind from spiralling downward into fear.

The jeweled asari gave a slight shake of her head. "I don't think that will be necessary." She stepped closer to Garrus, just out of reach of his arms, had they been free. "We're going to go upstairs now. Then, you may beg me for your life, if you wish." She turned to Allessa. "Stay here with the others. I expect this… will take some time."

"Yes, Mother."

Garrus tried not to make any sort of sound to show his relief when the wand disappeared once more, but he couldn't help the way his shoulders unconsciously relaxed and his subvocals wavered with relief.

"After you." She gestured graciously at the stairs, while, at the same time, giving him a powerful shove with her biotics.

There was nothing he could do. His legs simply weren't strong enough yet, having been cramped and numb for so long, and, though his arms jerked reflexively behind his back, they did nothing to help his balance. He crashed to the floor with a grunt; pain sparking through his jaw, his ribs, his carapace.

"Oh, I beg your pardon. Please, allow me." An aura of pale blue energy surrounded him, twisting around him with pure force, and lifting him into the air. "There's something I want to show you."

The jeweled asari walked calmly across the room and up the stairs, pulling him along effortlessly through the air behind her. Allessa and the rest of her squad stepped aside to let them pass; some with looks of bored indifference, some with smirks of disdain. Allessa just smiled.

Garrus could feel his panic rising. He hadn't been here since that fateful day when he'd walked away with nothing but vengeance in his heart, but he'd re-lived it often enough in his nightmares. She came to an abrupt halt at the top of the stairs, letting him plummet down to the hard floor once more. He landed on his chest again, and couldn't help his rough hiss of pain.

"So, Archangel, what do you think of the consequences of your work? Was it worth it?" Her voice had become harder, colder.

 _Spirits_ …

He let his head fall face down against the broken tiled floor, not wanting to see; not wanting to face the stark reality of the scene before him.

"You  _will_  look, Archangel." She flipped him half onto his side, wrenching his head upward by his fringe. He was momentarily stunned by the pain, instinctively trying to twist away from her grip. The jeweled asari only clenched him more firmly—she was stronger than she looked. "I said, you  _will_  look at what you've done, turian." Her words were heavy and laced with venom as she hauled his head up again.

Spirits help him, it was just like he remembered…

Every scuff on the tiles; every crack that slithered from the ceiling to the floor, splitting the paint on either side in two like a  _serpens_  shedding its skin. Two of the bunks had been overturned, the bedding torn to scraps.

To make blindfolds, the voice in his head murmured numbly. Some of them had been blindfolded…

The bodies were gone, but the visions in his nightmares supplied them anyway.

Contorted limbs, deliberately twisted into unnatural angles.

Faces he had known, reduced to flaps of skin and pulp. Smears of blood, fragments of bone…

Blood in every hue—blue, red, purple, green—had pooled around each one, already congealed into viscous syrup long before he'd scrambled up the stairs, his heart stuttering in his chest; his own blood unshed and roaring in his ears.

Betrayed! They'd been betrayed! Fucking Sidonis had sold them out and he'd been too fucking stupid to realize it.

A guttural groan escaped as he stared at the room now, the evidence of the carnage the Suns had wrought here still dried and preserved; he'd failed them, failed them all.

"Yes, you did this, didn't you? Archangel." The jeweled asari spat out the name with contempt. "Your idiocy cost me my daughter." She slammed his face against the floor and Garrus both felt and heard his nasal ridges crack. He could taste the tang of blood in his mouth and throat, but there was some relief when she released his fringe and stood up. He lifted his head enough to watch her walk to one corner of the room before turning back to face him.

"My daughter died here, because of you. Right here." The jeweled asari pointed at a spot on the floor just beyond her feet. "This is where they collected her body; what was left of it."

"Who?" The word was a croak from the dry bitterness of his throat. There had been two asari on his team—Erash and Mierin. He'd liked them both.

Quiet and reserved, Erash, had been one of the best demolitions experts he'd ever worked with. It had taken a long time before she'd been willing to say much about her background or personal life but, she had—just to him—opened up slowly. Garrus had always thought of her as one of the most loyal and committed of their squad.

Mierin had been fierce, determined; privately, she'd always reminded him more than a little of Shepard, which was, perhaps, one of the reasons they'd hit it off so easily. She'd been one of the first members of his growing squad, willing to do anything, try anything. No fear. Her father was a krogan, she'd told him, and he'd laughed, saying that it explained a lot.

The jeweled asari studied him silently for a long moment before answering him. "Her name was Ulari."

Garrus' brow plates shifted in confusion. "There was no one—"

"My understanding is that she'd told you her name was Mierin."

 _Mierin_.

He swallowed roughly, his throat too dry to really accomplish anything; his heart weighing heavily inside his chest.

"She was always so idealistic, even as a girl. We rarely understood each other, although there was such potential... so much strength and fire. When she entered her Maiden stage and left home, I'd hoped that she would return one day, tempered and ready to finally grasp what her heritage had to offer." She looked down at the dried blood and torn bedding on the floor and then back at him. "Instead, I got her back in a sealed container that they begged me not to open."

The jeweled asari walked forward slowly.

"But, I opened it. I had to see, after all, what they had done to my daughter. What  _you_  had done to my daughter." She shook her head in thought. "Did you honestly think that you could make a difference,  _here_  of all places?"

"I wanted to." His voice was hoarse, and it hurt to talk, but he went on anyway. "She believed that, too."

"Don't tell me what my daughter believed. All you knew were the lies she told you. If you'd known what family she was from, you would have never taken her with you."

"She earned her place, just like everyone else." He considered his next words, wondering if he should stay silent and not goad her, but what was the point? She certainly hadn't brought him all the way here just to talk. If she was going to kill him, he might as well go out fighting; with words, if it couldn't be weapons. "If she was lying to anyone, it was to you."

She didn't react to his attempt to anger her, shrugging her shoulders slightly. "Perhaps, but I will avenge her death all the same. Every remaining member of the Blue Suns that took part in this massacre—from those who planned it, to those who carried out the orders—are all dead, at my hand. You, Archangel, are the last."

"What about Sidonis? I… I let him—"

The jeweled asari laughed; an unpleasant sound in the hollow, near-emptiness of the warehouse. It was almost silent downstairs in the main area, with just the odd shuffling of feet and the murmur of voices.

"Lantar Sidonis had quite a few things to say about you before he died. It was fortunate for me that you were too weak to do what needed to be done; it proved to be a much more effective and cost efficient way of obtaining the information I needed than dealing with the Shadow Broker and his operatives." She stared down at him. "I couldn't believe my luck when your name showed up on a crew manifest from the Illium docking bays." The jeweled asari paused for a moment. "Truly, I've never had more of an appreciation for the ridiculous number of documentation protocols there until now."

She came a little closer, and stopped. "But, I'm not really interested in talking any more. It doesn't matter. It won't bring my daughter back. There is nothing you could say to me, nothing you could offer me, that would undo what you've done." Her biotics were beginning to flare, highlighting her figure in a nimbus of blue. "Are you ready to die, Archangel?"

"No." He would be defiant until the end. He would not go willingly.

 _No_.

He'd wanted to, during the long, dark time after Shepard's death. Hell, he'd briefly considering doing the job himself as his guilt over what had happened  _right here_  had nearly consumed him.

But, then Shepard had come back. He'd found ways to be productive and useful again. He'd conquered his nightmares, throwing himself into the fight against the Collectors and the Reapers.

His thoughts went to his family: his mother, languishing from Corpalis Syndrome; his father, unable to cope with her illness and burying himself into his work; Solana, caught between the two of them. He regretted that he'd left her to deal with everything all on her own, but there was nothing he could do about it now. She thought he was gallivanting about the galaxy and, it was strangely preferable to him that she think less of him. It was easier, somehow, than the truth.

Of everything, Garrus' thoughts came to center on Shepard. If only he'd figured it out sooner; that his feelings of friendship had run deeper than he'd ever imagined. He hoped she knew how he felt… hoped it was enough.

The jeweled asari leaned down and spat in his face; her eyes dead and dark. "You  _will_  die. Your life for hers."

Biotic energy was building up around his body; he could feel it pressing against every part of him, growing tighter. He struggled helplessly, his wrists biting into the hard metal cuffs.

He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think…

Each heave of his chest to inhale was becoming more and more difficult; soon it would be impossible. His vision was already growing dark around the edges.

His pulse was thundering in his head as she crushed him, choked him.

Gunfire.

Heavy footsteps, moving quickly up the stairs.

He slipped under, giving in to the darkness as everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, Josie Lange, for all her continued help with this story, and thank you to all of you out there reading. I appreciate your support so much.


	15. Vengeance

 

They approached the warehouse at the coordinates that Liara had given them with a good degree of caution, since they still didn't know how large Velaria's team actually was. With that in mind, Shepard had elected to bring a larger team with her than she normally did as, for once, they hadn't needed to concern themselves with the amount of available room in the transport shuttle.

She'd chosen Thane and Kasumi for their stealth—having the schematics of the building ahead of time made it easier to put together a few potential infiltration plans—as well as Tali, for her technical expertise. If they needed to bypass any locked access panels, there were few who could match her hacking speed. Finally, she'd brought Jack for her biotic abilities. Shepard had no biotics of her own, and she wasn't about to face a powerful asari—more than likely  _multiple_  asari—without having some way to counter that disadvantage.

It also helped that Jack had a shitty attitude on the best of days, and Shepard wanted someone around her who was as pissed off as she was right now.

They'd taken Garrus, and she was going to tear them to fucking pieces.

On the surface, she appeared confident and in control; 'Commander Shepard' was firmly in place and ready to kick some asari ass. Underneath at all, she was a blaze of anger and determination and worry, trying not to dwell on the possibility that she was already too late.

They picked their way casually down the thoroughfare, one by one; not a team at all, just a few stragglers going about their business. It was fortunate, in a way, that they were on Omega, since the sight of someone wandering about in heavy armour with multiple weapons holstered on their back was downright commonplace. Of all the people they'd passed as they'd made their way into the Kima District, no one had even given them a second glance.

By the time the warehouse was in sight, Thane and Kasumi had already disappeared, swallowed up by the shadows, leaving only Shepard, Jack, and Tali strolling towards the main door. The plan had been for Shepard to walk past first, silently signalling to the other two behind her how many were guarding the exterior door but, when she walked past, there was no one. She continued on, not stopping, until the first alleyway she spotted; turning that way with an Alliance hand gesture indicating that the others should move up to her position.

Shepard stepped over a dead vorcha lying at the entrance to the alley—he looked fresh… probably some drug deal gone bad—and waited for Jack and Tali to catch up. Thane and Kasumi should have chosen their own positions by now; ideally, they'd have already been able to gain access to the loading bay in the back.

Jack rounded the corner and then lifted her boot in disgust "What the fuck? This thing's still wet." She toed the body over with her foot. "You think the bitch we're after did this?"

"Could be."

A moment later, Tali came around the corner as well. "I didn't see anyone guarding the—eugh." She took in the dead vorcha, the blood, and the filth of the alleyway with another expression of disgust. " _Keelah_ , this place is worse than I'd even imagined."

"I didn't see anyone either." Shepard pulled out her SMG, giving it a routine once over that appeared almost absent minded; the process ingrained and automatic. Now that they were off the main traffic corridors, she cared even less who might see them, and the weapon was comfortable, familiar, in her hands. The last time she'd cleaned it, she and Garrus had sat side by side in the armory, swapping tales of combat missions… always trying to one up each other. She slapped the bottom of the targeting assist module, confirming that it was fully seated, a little harder than necessary to try and clear her head. "I don't think these are experienced mercs. Liara looked into any gang affiliations for Velaria T'Naris and couldn't find anything obvious."

"They could have cameras watching the entry points." Jack crossed her arms awkwardly over her chest and stared up at the dilapidated buildings, apparently unwilling to lean up against the grime of the alley walls in her typical apathetic slouch.

Tali made a soft noise of disagreement without looking up, her fingers flying over the keypad on her omni-tool. "No. I scanned the outer walls as I walked by. Nothing there that I saw."

Shepard's omni-tool pinged softly and she skimmed through the message before relaying the information it contained. "Kasumi and Thane were able to get in through the rear door and into the loading bay. Loading bay is empty and shows no signs of recent use. Preliminary biometric scans indicate between five and ten people inside."

"Fuck, that's it?" Jack stalked forward. "What are we waiting for, then?"

Shepard keyed in a quick response to Kasumi before meeting Jack's glare with a firm nod. "Absolutely nothing. Tali, you get the door open while Jack and I watch your back. Then, you drop back and let the two of us move in first. Thane and Kasumi will take out anyone they can while we draw their fire. Questions?"

Tali shook her head. "Understood, Shepard."

"Nope." Jack gave her a feral grin. "Let's go make sure these motherfuckers have a really bad day."

**oOoOo**

The access panel on the front door was no match for Tali's hacking utilities, the red glow replaced with green in a matter of milliseconds.

"Hmmm… interesting." Tali skimmed through the data output that was streaming to her omni-tool. "The algorithm on this door is one of Garrus'. An older one. No wonder my software was able to crack it so quickly."

"You're sure?" Shepard frowned in thought.

"Positive." Tali powered off her omni-tool. "Definitely one of his."

"Why would they have used one of his algorithms in this access panel? I can't imagine they would have ordered him to do it and, even if they had, why would he have used this one?" Shepard whispered.

"Maybe he wanted to make it easier to hack if he knew we were coming after him? I doubt anyone other than us would have known…" Tali turned and quickly peered up both sides of the thoroughfare, but it was still deserted.

"Or…" Shepard ignored Jack's annoyed glance. "Or, that software was already here. They've brought Archangel back to his old home base."

"Why are we still  _talking_? Let's go." Jack was shivering with barely contained energy, unable to stand still.

"Let's go," Shepard agreed. "On my count. Ready… One, two, three!"

**oOoOo**

The door slid back to reveal a darkened hallway with a faint glow of light emanating from just beyond. Shepard charged forward with Jack right behind her—there was no halfway in battle—knowing that the sounds of the door opening would have been enough to alert the people inside.

Shepard forced every doubt, every fear, from her mind, focusing solely on what would be lying just ahead. Five to ten people; if she was lucky, one of them was Garrus and he was still alive. Velaria was an asari, which meant having to deal with biotics, but that was what Jack was here for. That left three to eight unaccounted for; two of them were probably krogan, the rest unknown.

She was somewhat more confident, although there was a niggling worry that she was missing  _something_ , based on the fact that Velaria and her team hadn't set a watch on the door, and that Kasumi and Thane had been able to slip in the back undetected… which meant that they hadn't set a watch on the rear door either. Were they really just sloppy amateurs, or was this all a trap?

There was no going back now and, if Garrus  _was_  in there… Fuck it. There was no time for second guessing.

As they hit the end of the hallway, boots slamming heavily against the concrete floor, the dimly lit main area—just as it had been marked on the schematics she'd studied—became visible. A wall of blue shot up, throwing her backwards as she crashed into it.

"Fucking biotics!" She scrambled to her feet. "Jack!"

"On it." Jack pushed past her, hands flaring with light, as she punched through the semi-translucent barrier. "Come on!"

Shepard dashed through the gap Jack had created, scanning the room quickly to see what they were up against as she dove behind the closest piece of cover—an overturned foot locker. There were two asari at the bottom of the stairs, and at least five more scattered throughout the area. No sign of the krogan.

No Garrus, either.

Dammit!

She fired on the two near the stairs as Jack began lifting chairs, lockers—anything heavy that lay discarded on the floor—and hurling them across the room. Jack was swearing non-stop, her eyes dark and filled with a rage that Shepard knew had nothing to do with this particular fight. Tali's combat drone whirred into the room and, from a position somewhere behind and to the left of Shepard's, the quarian began shooting at the same two asari that Shepard was focusing on.

Shepard could tell already that these asari were struggling; being split between firing their own weapons and maintaining enough power to block Jack's improvised projectiles—as well as the shots from Shepard and Tali—was proving to be too much. It didn't take long before their barriers showed signs of weakening, and the first one went down only seconds after the blue energy surrounding her started to dim.

The second was fading, too, enough that Shepard was willing to risk breaking cover to press forward. Garrus had to be upstairs, he  _had_  to be, though she couldn't see any movement over the open half wall that surrounded the loft area.

"I'm heading up!" Shepard shouted at Tali as she ejected her thermal clip and slapped in a fresh one. There was no hesitation as she vaulted over the footlocker, taking down the last asari near the stairs with a full burst from her SMG.

She was halfway up the steps when the loading bay doors slid open, and she saw Kasumi and Thane emerge; they teamed up take out the asari who had positioned herself closest to the doors before making for opposite corners of the room.

The asari were falling quickly—there were only two or three still standing that she could see—and the only one who seemed to be posing any difficulty was the one who was dressed in different armour than the others—silver, rather than gold. The silver-armoured one had erected a wall of force to protect herself from Jack's onslaught, and was currently volleying shots between Kasumi and Tali's positions. Thane was nowhere to be seen, but that was hardly surprising. Shepard was momentarily torn, but she couldn't stop now, not if Garrus could be upstairs. The silver-armoured asari was outnumbered and more than likely outmatched.

"You will stop there."

Just as Shepard reached the top stair, a biotic pulse seized her, whipping her off the ground. Her instincts were screaming at her that this  _must_  be Velaria T'Naris, but she was having a hard time processing the barrage of conclusions that her mind was drawing.

 _This_  was the asari with the jeweled crest, the one who had ejected them from Paradise back on Illium.

Why was she interested enough in Archangel to bring him back here? Did she want to hurt him—kill him?—or was she hoping to blackmail him or ransom him off to the highest bidder? Surely, there were still quite a few Suns or Blood Pack out there who'd be willing to pay a substantial price for the opportunity…

All these thoughts were swirling through Shepard's subconscious, not even articulated in so many words, but muddling her ability to focus. None of those questions mattered now. What mattered was finding Garrus and getting herself and her team out of this alive. She might never know the full details; the only important thing now was breaking free from her biotics and—

Garrus! His name stuck, unvoiced, in her throat as she spotted him, lying face down and still, in the piles of debris and shredded blankets.

If he was dead…

She roared with anger, the sound reverberating in her chest as she struggled against the energy that was pinning her in place; not even able to open her mouth to speak.

Velaria ignored her, moving up to stare out over the half wall of the loft at the fire fight going on down below; at the scene that Shepard couldn't see. There were screams and shouts, and a loud crash as something hit the wall directly beneath them. Velaria went utterly still, her hands clenching into fists as her profile lit up with a sudden flare of furious energy. "Another of my daughters gone," she said, her voice harsh and trembling, as she turned back to Shepard. "What will your people do to protect your life, I wonder?"

She walked towards Shepard, serenely pulling her pistol from its holster. Shepard was nearly weeping tears of frustration. Garrus was right there— _right there_ —maybe dead, maybe still alive but only barely, and she was fucking  _helpless_  to do anything about it. Velaria was holding her in place easily as she hovered in mid-air.

The asari stalked forward and placed the barrel of her pistol against the side of Shepard's head. "When we first met, I had no quarrel with you. There are many who would pay very well indeed for the privilege of ending your life, but this isn't about money. It's about family, and the loss of my daughter—" She looked momentarily stricken before her features became blank and composed once more. "The loss of my  _daughters_ … will not go unanswered."

Velaria's gaze flicked to the stairs behind Shepard, and Shepard could hear footsteps even though she was physically unable to turn her head to see who it was.

"Stop!" Velaria ordered. The footsteps ceased immediately. "One step closer and I will kill her. A bullet shattering her skull, tearing her to pieces with biotics… it will all end the same."

"What do you want?" Tali's voice echoed a little in the partially enclosed space.

"What do I want?" The jeweled asari laughed, a slightly out of control sound. "What do I want? I want my daughters back. But, you can't give that to me. So, I'll take a life. A life for her life, that sounds reasonable, doesn't it? As many lives as it takes." She pushed the pistol even harder against Shepard's temple, letting it dig painfully into her skin. "What choice have you left me with? You will bleed. You will  _suffer_. You will pay for what I have lost."

If she could only move, just the tiniest bit… She was still cradling her SMG, all she had to do was move her finger enough to fire, but she couldn't even do that…

Tali hesitated, intermittent patters of gunfire and the sound of Jack shouting still echoing from downstairs. "You can't kill us all. If you kill her, I'll kill you… Is that really what you want?"

"You don't know anything about what I want. You don't know anything about what I've been through." The asari's eyes were cold and black and glittering like stars as she calmly shifted her pistol to aim just over Shepard's shoulder. "No one does."

In the sudden hush the followed, as if the building itself and everyone in it had momentarily ceased to breathe, Velaria pulled the trigger, and fired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge, huge thank you to my beta, Josie Lange, for helping me get this chapter sorted out. This chapter is so much better for your advice and feedback.
> 
> Virtual cookies, and a giant thank you as well, to everyone following this story and for all your kind comments. They mean the world to me. Thank you!


	16. Reunited

"I am getting so fucking sick of this shit." There was a sudden explosion of blue force that slammed the weapon out of Velaria's hand less than a fraction of a second later as Jack sprinted up the stairs.

Shepard found herself abruptly falling to the floor as Velaria shifted her focus to Jack, the two of them lighting up the semi-enclosed space with crackles of energy. Shepard rolled as she landed, her SMG cradled protectively against her chest, shifting her weight so she could quickly get to her feet. A glance showed her that Tali was—remarkably—unhurt behind a nearly translucent barrier that wavered each time Jack's power flared.

As much as it was killing her to leave Garrus where he was, they needed to neutralize Velaria first, or this might all be for nothing. Shepard edged back from the intense battle between the two women; the air was charged with a furious hum, like a disturbed hornets' nest, from their competing biotics. She wasn't going to be able to get a clear shot at Velaria with her SMG—the risk of hitting Jack was too high. Holstering it against her back, she pulled out her pistol instead and stalked up cautiously a few feet behind Velaria's position.

Jack's eyes flicked to hers, feverish and full of rage, but Shepard caught her slight nod just before she sent another burst of power directly at the asari, driving her back towards where Shepard was waiting. With a cry, Shepard leapt forward, slipping her arm around the top of Velaria's chest and shoulders to yank her tightly against her own form.

Time seemed to slow as Shepard heard Jack's shout of triumph, as she felt the asari's body tense in her grasp. Her pistol slid upwards, almost of its own accord, in a slow caress from Velaria's neck to the base of her skull.

"I hope this hurts," Shepard whispered, her words an angry hiss as she pulled the trigger.

The asari crumpled as Shepard released her and stepped back; her biotics flaring out bright and wild like the final gasp of a dying star and then waning into nothingness as she collapsed, unmoving, to the floor.

Jack took a long look at the fallen asari before turning away with a huff and a shrug, the last licks of power fading from her hands. "Fucking asari, always thinking they're better than everybody else." The barrier protecting Tali, who appeared to be shaken but unharmed, fell away as she stomped off back down the stairs. "I'll keep watch on the doors; make sure there aren't any left."

"Tali, are you okay? Any suit ruptures we need to worry about?" Shepard asked as she haphazardly wiped the spatter from her face. Her eyes were already focused on the figure on the floor.

"It appears fine. I'll have to run some diagnostics to be sure."

Garrus.

She needed to get to Garrus.

"Tali, cover me in case there are more coming." Shepard nearly ran to Garrus' side, dropping down onto her knees next to his prone form. His arms were wrenched at a painful looking angle behind his back; his wrists restrained in a heavy duty metal cuffing system.

She was muttering under her breath as she felt frantically at his neck, looking for any sign that he might still be alive. "Come on, Garrus, don't give up on me. Please, don't be dead. No Shepard without Vakarian, remember? I know you're still there, you have to fight for me, please. Please, don't be dead."

He had a pulse. It was feeble and unsteady, but it was there.

"Holy shit, he's alive." Shepard let out a huge sigh, feeling exhilaration and relief thundering through her, singing in her veins, making her feel as weak as if she'd swallowed a full litre of ryncol in one go.

_He was alive._

They hadn't been too late, although it had been far closer than she would have liked, and he was  _alive_.

Shepard offered up her own silent prayers to every deity she could think of as she gingerly rolled him over and tilted his jaw up, trying to give him as clear an airway as she could without putting too much pressure on his arms and shoulders, since they were likely dislocated.

Garrus' face was covered in scrapes and abrasions, and his nasal ridges and jaw were both terribly swollen. He was taking ragged gasps through his mouth as she stroked his cheeks as gently as she could. After a moment's thought, Shepard carefully edged over so that she could position his head in her lap and hopefully alleviate a little of his arms' discomfort.

They were going to have to carry him back to the ship; he certainly wasn't going to be walking after this. Still, she hoped that he might at least regain consciousness. He might be more significantly wounded than he looked though, he might never wake—

She wiped away the tears that were forming, unbidden, in the corners of her eyes with a rough sweep of her hand. "Garrus, if you can hear me, I need you to wake up for me. Otherwise, I have to drag your unconscious ass back to the ship myself, and you know how cranky that makes me." Her fingers trailed carefully around the painful looking burned welts that were seeping a watery, blue-tinged liquid. It looked like she wasn't going to have a choice but to move him. She couldn't stabilize him here, although she could at least slap some medi-gel on the worst of his open sores. "Come on, big guy, you need to wake up. Just prove to me that you're okay and then you can rest again. Promise."

Garrus took a deeper breath than his previous ones, releasing it with a whimpered groan. Shepard sat up straighter, an unexpected bloom of hope nearly overwhelming her. "Garrus? Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?"

He moaned softly again, his head jerking a little as he twisted in her arms.

"Come on, you're a big tough guy, remember? You don't want to ruin your image now, do you?"

Garrus' eyelids fluttered almost imperceptibly, and then his eyes opened and he blinked slowly as he struggled to focus on her face. "Shep…?"

Shepard had always prided herself on not being  _that_  kind of girl. She didn't watch sappy, sentimental vids with cheesy romance scenes. She'd never cared about her hair or makeup or clothes, even as a teenager, and she'd  _certainly_  never been overly emotional or weepy over anything or anyone.

But, she could have cried at the sight of his blue eyes looking back at her.

Maybe she did.

**oOoOo**

"Hey," Shepard said, her voice shaking.

"Hey," he managed weakly.

She stroked down the edges of his fringe, then his cheeks and jaw, skirting carefully around the swollen side where his one mandible was sticking out at an awkward angle. Her eyes were wet, and she gave him a careful, gentle smile. Her throat sounded tight as she nearly choked on her words. "You know, if you'd thought the poetry duel was  _that_  bad, you could have just said so."

He couldn't help the painful laugh that barked out. "Stop, it hurts."

She laughed, too, in a sound that was close to a sob. "I'm sorry." Her eyes were fixed on his with an intense, fierce protectiveness. "I'm sorry," she whispered a second time, almost too quietly for his translator to catch her words. Her fingers gave his face one last sweeping caress before she turned to Tali, who had been standing there silently, waiting for Shepard's permission before she approached. "Tali, can you go get Kasumi? I want to try and get these restraints off if we can."

The quarian nodded. "No problem, Shepard. I'll be right back."

A few moments after she vanished, there were footsteps coming up the stairs.

"How can I help, Shep?"

Shepard took charge, directing the other two. "Tali, I need the extra medi-gel you're carrying and then head down and keep watch with Jack and Thane. I don't think there will be any more, but I'd rather be cautious. Kasumi, see if you can get these cuffs off his wrists."

Tali began removing medi-gel dispensers from a compartment strapped against the outside of her thigh as Kasumi crouched down to examine Garrus' restraints. With Shepard's help, he managed to get into a position on his side that wasn't excruciatingly painful.

"Fancy." Kasumi slid a fingertip over the release interface. "These are locked with an access code in addition to a physical mechanism."

"Can you get them off quickly, or should we just get him back to the ship first?"

The thief hummed softly, pulling out a small kit filled with intricate tiny metal rods and tools from somewhere inside her sleeve. "I think I can get it. Give me a few minutes. If I don't have them off by the time you're done with the medi-gel, we'll take him back to the Normandy and cut them off there."

"Agreed."

Tali finished extracting the first dispenser and handed it over to Shepard, who accepted it with a distracted nod. She scarcely seemed to notice as Tali began to make a small pile on the ground next to where Garrus lay. Her focus was on him, her frown deepening as she gently prodded and manipulated his joints, mapping out the extent of his injuries. "How are you feeling?"

"I've been better."

"No kidding." She began carefully applying medi-gel to the burns on his chest where the wand had scorched him and his subvocals keened as he involuntarily flinched away from her fingers. "Sorry, this isn't going to be fun."

"It's all right. Beats the alternative." He wanted to grin, but it hurt too much. His entire body ached and throbbed as he tried, in vain, to suppress a shiver.

Shepard traded her empty dispenser for a fresh one, brushing away a lock of hair that had fallen into her eyes as she began anew. Garrus grunted as Kasumi put a little too much pressure on his arms, trying to twist them slightly for better access.

"That's all I've got, Shepard." Tali refastened the rectangular storage compartment to her suit's strapping.

Shepard spared a brief glance at the pile Tali had made for her before returning her attentions to Garrus. "Thanks, it should be enough to get these burns sealed at least."

It was getting more difficult for him to focus on her words. The medi-gel was making his chest feel pleasantly numb, and his relief at being safe, at seeing Shepard alive—at being alive himself—was making his exhaustion harder and harder to ignore. He wished he could lift his hand up to run his talons over her cheek. He liked the way the smooth skin on her forehead crinkled up when she was concentrating; the way she drew her lower lip between her teeth as she worked.

"Garrus, are you all right?" Shepard set her medi-gel dispenser down, peering into his face with alarm.

"I'm okay. Don't worry." He could see the concern in her eyes, and he wanted nothing more than to make it better. "Just… tired. Cold. Thirsty."

"Try and stay with me a little longer," she whispered, her fingers pressing against the thinner skin of his neck to check his pulse again. "Just a little longer." Shepard looked up, not at him, but over his shoulder. "Kasumi, how's it going? I'm worried he's going into shock. If you don't have it now, just leave them. We'll worry about getting them off once Dr. Chakwas has looked at him."

"I'm almost there." One of the thin silver tools dangled from the thief's mouth as she manipulated another one that was wedged inside a tiny hole in the cuffs. "I've already dealt with the access code—why these companies fail to recognize that software is only effective if the hardware that houses it is equally invulnerable is beyond me, not that I'm complaining. Just need to release the physical mechanism," the tool in her hand was deftly swapped for the one that was held between her lips, "and… we're good."

The restraints opened, releasing his wrists, and Garrus was free. He couldn't help a moan of discomfort as his shoulders shifted mostly back into their natural position. His arms still felt dead and heavy, but he knew it wouldn't last; it was too easy to remember the pain he'd experienced as the feeling had returned to his legs.

"You're amazing. Have I told you that lately?" Shepard grinned at Kasumi.

"Yes, but feel free to say it again." Kasumi stood up gracefully, her tools vanishing back into her sleeves. "Happy to help."

Shepard gave Garrus a hopeful smile and he struggled to keep his eyes open to see it. "You ready to get out of here, big guy?"

Yes, that was one thing he was sure of. He was ready to leave the nightmares behind.

"Yeah." It was an effort to speak, and he could feel what little energy he had fading.

Maybe if he just closed his eyes, just for a minute, his head would clear a little.

Just a little rest…

Just one minute…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glomping hugs and cookies for my beta, Josie Lange, for her continued support and all the time she's put into helping me make this story better than it would have been otherwise. Thank you! *hug*
> 
> Thank you to all of you out there reading as well. I continue to be humbled by your support and I'm so grateful. Thank you! *group hug*


	17. Worth Fighting For

The first thing Garrus noticed was that he wasn't in pain any more, and he couldn't help wondering if the absence of it was actually a sign of something worse. He lay as still as possible, hardly even daring to breathe as he took in what information he could about his surroundings without opening his eyes or giving any outward indication that he was conscious.

He was lying down on something firm and soft, on his back, with something of a similar material supporting his fringe. A blanket or cloth was draped over his lower body and chest although he was quite sure that he was completely unclothed beneath it. The lighting in the room was dim, but not fully dark, and he could hear someone moving about.

The last thing he remembered was the jeweled asari, holding him in place with her biotics; his chest beginning to collapse inward with the force of it… suffocating…

The fear came back in an instant.

Shepard, he needed to help Shepard…

A flanging moan escaped and he felt a sharp stab of panic. Maybe his captors would think he was just thrashing around in his sleep. Maybe, they wouldn't look closely enough to see that he'd woken… Maybe—

"Garrus? It's all right. You can open your eyes. You're quite safe now."

Dr. Chakwas.

Relief flooded through his limbs, and he needed a few shuddering breaths to steady himself before he could bring himself to open his eyes. He was in the med bay on the Normandy and, now that he knew exactly where he was, he could smell the familiar antiseptic tang of medi-gel that permeated the air. The hum of the lights and medical equipment—the feel of the ship itself, surrounding him—was, all at once, so profoundly  _normal_  that he was almost overcome with a sudden emotional upsurge.

"Where? How?" It was hard to make his mouth work at the same speed as the thoughts that were flying through his mind. Where was Shepard? Was she all right? How had they found him? How had they got away? He thought he should know, but he just couldn't seem to remember.

Garrus turned his head as Dr. Chakwas approached the bed, raising a finger to her lips in a signal he knew meant for him to be silent. She gestured at the other side of the bed. "She hasn't left your side since she carried you in here," she whispered.

Shepard was sitting in a hard plastic chair that had been pulled up next to the bed, half slumped awkwardly over the edge of the mattress. She was sleeping, her head pillowed on her crossed arms; her hair unbound with wavy tendrils curling around her neck and ears. In the low light, he could see where the shadows pooled in the gauntness of her cheeks as well as the bruised darkness, like smudges of ink, beneath her closed eyes. He raised his hand carefully—it trembled a little—and stroked an errant wisp of hair back into place. "She's here. She's safe."

"Yes." Dr. Chakwas came a bit closer, gently pressing her fingers into the thinner skin around his neck to check his pulse. "It was fortunate she found you when she did, but I'll let her fill you in on the rest." She paused, giving him a warm smile. "It's good to have you back, Garrus. It's still early in the night cycle, so get some more rest if you can. Are you in any pain at all?"

"No, I… feel not too badly, actually."

Dr. Chakwas tapped away for a minute on the datapad she was holding before looking up and nodding. "Good. I'll leave the two of you alone, but I'm not far. Ask EDI to notify me if you need anything."

"I will. Thanks." He lay there, staring up at the ceiling, as he listened to Dr. Chakwas putting things away and then there were footsteps, the sound of the doors opening and closing, and then silence. In the still of the med bay, amidst the lulling hum of the lights and the soft exhales and sighs of Shepard's breathing, Garrus couldn't help feeling that he must be the luckiest turian in the whole damn universe.

He was alive—again.

Shepard was alive—again.

They were here,  _together_ , having somehow muddled through yet another event that, when compared to everything else they'd been through in the past few years, felt relatively tame. Yet, this time  _had_  been different because he'd suddenly realized exactly how much he'd stood to lose. He wasn't about to make that mistake again. He lifted his hand once more, pleased to see it was a little steadier, and let his fingers trail over the softness of her hair; let his thumb brush across the curve of her cheek bone.

Shepard stirred in her sleep, opening her eyes at the contact. "Garrus?" she murmured, her words rough with sleep.

"I'm here," he said softly. "I'm here."

"Garrus." Her voice wavered as she found his hand with her own, pulling it more tightly to her cheek. "I was scared… I was going to be too late. I'm sorry; I should have—"

He wasn't sure what he was about to say, just that he needed to stop the torrent of words that was spilling out of her. "Stop. It's okay. You got there in time."

"But, if I'd been there, even a  _little_  sooner, I might have—"

He let his fingers drift down to caress her mouth. "Shepard. It's okay.  _I'm_  okay."

She kissed his fingertips, and strange sort of warmth raced into his chest like an electrical current sparking down a wire. " _I'm_  not okay," she whispered. "What if I'd lost you? What if I…" Her eyes were wet as she lifted her head up to really look at him.

"I know." His hand was still pressed against the side of her cheek, and he traced over it with the side of his talon before sliding over the ridge of her nose and doing the same on the other side of her face; tracing the colony markings that weren't there. Tracing the colony markings that would match his own.

She grew very still, and he wondered if she knew what he was doing. She was trembling by the time he'd finished. In the muted light of the med bay, with her hair wild around her face and the way she was looking at him now… She was beautiful.

And he loved her.

The thought came, not like a piercing streak of lightning, but like something rising to the surface from the depths of his heart; something that had been there all this time, unformed and waiting to be born.

_He loved her._

He loved her with a fierceness that made his chest burn, that made him long to bury his face against the alien smoothness of her skin and drink in her scent knowing that she was his. Only his. "Stay with me. Please." Her own words, from a night that seemed to be a lifetime ago.

She laughed once; a half sob. "I don't think that bed was meant for two."

Garrus looked at the uncomfortable looking chair that she was sitting in. That wouldn't do at all. He wanted  _her_ , in his arms, her head against his carapace. She was right, though; the beds in the med bay had definitely not been designed to accommodate more than one person. Only one option left then. "Let's make a break for it. Your cabin or mine?"

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Are you serious?"

"I've never been more serious."

"You've been lying here for five days. You don't know how weak you are. I might be able to prop you up enough to get to my quarters, but I don't know if that's a good idea."

He considered making a glib joke, ribbing her about being afraid of Dr. Chakwas' wrath if she broke the doctor's rules, but all those responses seemed to diminish what he was truly feeling. He needed her.

"Please," he said simply, his subvocals a gentle croon. His talons trailed down her cheek as he let his arm fall. "I want… to be with you."

She watched his hand drop down to the bed, taking in a slow and shaky breath. "I want to be with you, too. But, you're still hurt and I—"

"Either help me up, or figure out a way to fit in here with me."

"Neither of those are an option and you know it." She looked around, as if she hoped inspiration would strike. "If only there was another bed we could push up next to this one."

"What if we cleared it with Dr. Chakwas first?"

"Okay." She let out a shaky breath and smiled hesitantly. "We can do that."

**oOoOo**

Luckily, Dr. Chakwas had still been awake—Garrus knew that Shepard would have felt guilty about interrupting her sleep. After Shepard had excused herself to go make a mug of tea, the doctor had given him a cursory examination. The burned sections of plating on his chest and back had already been regenerated and, although slightly more sensitive than they would be after they'd properly hardened, they weren't painful at all any more. His fractured vertebrae, ribs, nose, and jaw still ached a little, but were healing well, likely only requiring one or two more ossification treatments. Numerous scrapes and abrasions had been disinfected and treated with medi-gel, thanks mostly to Shepard, and he'd had enough intravenous fluids to counter his dehydration.

"It could have been worse. At least you didn't take a hit from a gunship this time." Dr. Chakwas gave him a wry smile as she removed the blood pressure cuff from his arm. "You've certainly got a knack for getting into trouble, don't you?"

Garrus let out a light huff and winced at the unpleasant twinge in his left mandible. "It comes with the territory. Besides, I was under the impression that human women liked scars."

"I wonder where you could possibly have gotten that idea." She winked at him, just as the doors opened to admit Shepard back into the med bay.

"So, what's the verdict? Is he safe to move?" Shepard set her mug of tea down on Dr. Chakwas' desk as she approached the pair. She had a terrible habit of setting her mug down in odd places as she made her rounds throughout her shift, leaving a scattered mass of mugs in her wake. It drove Gardner to distraction.

Dr. Chakwas stood up, bundling up the blood pressure cuff and tucking it away on one of the neatly organized shelves. "He's still a little weak—definitely not fit for  _active duty_." She gave Shepard a pointed stare that made her blush. "But, I don't see any reason why he can't  _sleep_ ," she emphasized that word, too, "somewhere more comfortable." She turned to face Garrus. "I expect to see you back here after you've woken up. There are a few more tests I'd like to run and I think you'll likely be ready for another ossification treatment."

"I can do that." Garrus nodded, hoping he didn't look too eager.

"Excellent. Now, if the two of you will excuse me, I think it's about time I went to bed, too." She smiled. "Go get some rest. You've definitely earned it."

As the doors closed behind her, Shepard grinned at him. "Shall we?"

"Nothing could keep me away."

Garrus gingerly sat up, raising himself carefully upright. Shepard held his hand as he waited for the initial dizziness to subside. After a minute or two, he felt strong enough to edge his legs around to dangle over the side for another minute before finally sliding down from the examination table, with Shepard bracing herself under his arm to support him.

"You need some help, soldier?" Shepard's voice was warm and low, and he didn't think he would ever get tired of listening to the changes in its tone that were only for him.

"Well, you could carry me. I wouldn't object."

"Nice try. I think I compressed all my vertebrae lugging you back to the Normandy." Her voice cracked a little, but Garrus pretended not to notice.

He left his arm draped across her shoulders for balance and, although his steps were shaky, he was able to walk without too much difficulty. Shepard kept glancing up at him as they waited for the elevator, flushing a little and looking away when their eyes happened to meet and hold for too long.

Once they were in her quarters, she busied herself with getting the pillows and bed arranged so that he would be comfortable enough. He was simultaneously saddened and amused to see that the two cases of beer they'd bought on his birthday were still tucked against the long wall that showcased the aquarium.

"Right, so I think we should be good to go… I've got a glass of water by the bed, so you don't need to get up. Although, I could always get one for you. I have some extra pillows, if you need more support for your back." Shepard was ticking things off with her fingers—it was a good thing she had so many—as she talked… and continued to talk, rather rapidly. "I've got some extra blankets; not very warm, but better than nothing—I really should get EDI to run an analysis of the temperature regulator in here…"

"Shepard."

"I didn't think to grab any dextro rations, though, in case you get hungry. Are you hungry? Maybe I should just go and—"

" _Shepard._ "

She stopped, her hands and fingers still poised in mid-count, as he took a hesitant step closer, then another, until they were facing each other. "I don't need anything else. I don't need anything but you." He gave her a long, slow look and then side-stepped around her to get into the bed. It took him a few minutes to settle himself, folding the pillow beneath his fringe as he'd done before. She watched him the entire time, with an expression he couldn't read. Her eyes seemed damp, as if she was about to cry, but the corners of her mouth were turned upward in a hint of a smile. "Stay with me? Please?" he asked.

Shepard didn't speak at first, although the hint of a smile grew stronger. "I'd like that."

She walked over to the panel near the bed and switched off the lights, leaving only the soft blue from the fish tank to provide enough pale illumination to see by. In the near darkness, she approached the opposite side of the bed and pulled back the blankets to slide in next to him. He was on his side, and she lay down in a similar fashion, so that they both faced each other.

He heard her breathing grow deeper, shakier. "Shepard? Are you okay?"

"I am now." And then she was kissing him—kissing him fiercely—and her cheeks were damp, smelling faintly of salt.

"Me, too," he managed to get out before claiming her mouth right back. His subharmonics were singing, rumbling through his chest and making his ribs throb with the exertion, but there was no suppressing it this time. Garrus pulled her close, savouring the feeling of her body molded against his own. She moaned against the gentle onslaught of his mouth and tongue, and the sound filled him with a need that licked down every nerve like wildfire.

This was worth it, worth everything. Worth fighting for; worth risking everything for.

 _I love you_ , his subvocals sang.  _My mate, my one, my heart_. Someday soon, he would say those words in a language Shepard could understand. For now, this was enough. More than enough.

He pulled back slowly, brushing her lips over and over again with soft presses of his mouth. His mouth plates might not be pliant enough to kiss like she was used to, but he hoped the approximation would be close enough. To his surprise, Shepard's hands came up under his fringe, urging him closer so she could push her forehead against his. They stayed there, staring into the near darkness of each other's eyes as their ragged breathing slowed.

One of her hands slid down his neck, fingers gently stroking along his jaw and mandible and then creeping up to his cheek. He held his breath as she caressed the markings there.

"I love you," she whispered. "I'm sorry if that's too soon. I just needed to say it."

His fingers found her cheek, too, tracing over markings that weren't there, just as he had done earlier; markings that he found himself imagining and  _wanting_  with a powerful mix of desire and affection. "I love you, too, Shepard." He wanted  _her_ , wanted nothing more than her. "I love you, too."

She kissed him again as his subharmonics crooned his happiness, and then he settled on to his back with her draped partially across his chest. Shepard fell asleep first, with his talons stroking the familiar strangeness of her hair. He tried to stay awake, unwilling to succumb to sleep just yet, but, eventually, even he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.

Lingering on cusp of the pleasant weariness that was pulling him down, tugging him under, Garrus inhaled deeply, continuing to comb his fingers through her hair until even those stilled… and then Garrus, too, fell asleep.

There were no nightmares; only dreams filled with light like the petals of a flower cascading through his fingers; like the scales glimmering on the sides of a great fish, swimming through the inky blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my wonderful beta, Josie Lange, for her speedy beta and her helpful suggestions and comments, and thank you to all of you for reading. :)


	18. My Mate, My One, My Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that the rating on this story has gone up to E, just to be on the safe side, due to this chapter's NSFW content. ;)

"Guess who's been cleared for active duty?" The doors to Shepard's cabin had already closed behind him as he headed down to where she was sprawled out on her couch, datapad in hand. After spending the majority of the last week holed up in Shepard's quarters as he'd recuperated, it no longer felt strange to be here. It felt, well, nicer than he could have ever imagined.

Shepard glanced up at him with a knowing grin. "Cleared for  _active duty_ , huh? Whatever shall we do with ourselves?"

"Go planet-side and shoot up some geth? Maybe a few Collectors…"

"That's… not exactly what I had in mind." The datapad slid from her hands as she let it drop lightly onto the couch and stood up. It was early enough that Shepard was wearing the same clothing she typically wore to sleep in—shorts and a form-fitting t-shirt—and her hair was still dry, so she evidently hadn't even made it as far as the shower yet.

Garrus felt an odd rush of nerves as she approached. This part of things was still new, and it was hard to shake the lingering concern and mild anxiety that this wasn't physically going to work. What if, when it came down to it, they were fundamentally incompatible?

Over the past few days, as he'd begun to feel well again, they'd tentatively started to explore each other. Long talks, curled up together in her bed, had led to her hands, slipping beneath his shirt to graze the leathery scales and ridges of his chest and carapace. He'd followed her lead, brushing the pads of his fingers against the silken softness of her skin; relishing the way her breathing had hitched as she'd guided his hands to her breasts, mesmerized by the way the nipples in the center had hardened as he'd circled them with the tips of his blunted talons. He'd already known that they were a prime erogenous zone for humans, as they were for asari, but that knowledge hadn't prepared him for the spike in his own desire, just  _knowing_  that what he was doing was arousing for her. He'd sought her eyes, seeking the permission she had given with a hungry nod of her head, before sliding her shirt all the way up and tasting them with his tongue.

His plates had been loose already, but the moans she had made in the back of her throat; the way she had moved her fingers up to stroke the sensitive flesh behind his fringe… There'd been no stopping it—he was too hard, too turned on—and his length had pushed outward as his plates had fully parted. They'd stopped there, with a painful reluctance; their still-clothed hips pressed together, seeking, desiring, needing the completion of filling and being filled.

Shepard had kissed him, hard and fierce and longing, before nudging him back. They needed to wait. He was still recovering and she hadn't wanted to hurt him. So, in the darkness, they'd had to content themselves in other ways—maybe it had been better that their first introduction to physical intimacy hadn't been full intercourse. There had been no pressure to perform, no worries about logistics or positions.

Together, they had continued to explore, whispering words of encouragement. He had learned the feel of her, wet and slick and impossibly softer than the rest of her; the movements of his fingers eliciting sounds he'd never heard from her before and that were, incredibly, all for him. He'd touched, smelled, tasted; memorizing the sensations of her arousal until she'd finally broken in his arms with a cry that had made his subharmonics croon with pleasure and happiness.

Then, Shepard had done the same to him with the utmost care and gentleness. His head had fallen back, too overcome with desire and love and the feeling of her fingers wrapped around him, stroking, to hold onto any kind of coherent thought. It had been so different than any experience he'd ever had with a turian woman, but her touch had sung to him; dragging him towards his own climax at a pace he hadn't thought possible. Just her fingers—so cool and slender—rising and falling as he'd pushed his hips into the embrace of her hand. He remembered groaning when she'd stilled, wanting more, and then, Spirits, her mouth…

He hadn't known what she was doing at first, as she'd edged herself down lower in the bed—his head had still been roaring with how close he'd been to the precipice when she'd stopped. And then she'd dipped her head down, licking slowly around just the tip before she'd taken him in as far as she could. Warm, wet, smooth… He hadn't been able to stop his hands from travelling instinctively to rest gently against her head, urging her on. He'd tried to keep his hips still, to not arch upward in pursuit of more contact, but it had been impossible. His body had wanted to move, seeking her desperately, and then she had sealed her lips around his shaft and the pressure had increased…

He'd gone crashing over the edge in less than a heartbeat, the force of his climax drawing out a flanging groan as the world around him had exploded. It had taken him a few minutes, lying there panting, for him to come back to himself enough to be able to move, to speak.

Afterward, Shepard had snuggled up against him, tucked against his carapace and legs intertwined in a way that somehow worked for them. She'd sighed contentedly, just a wisp of breath against his neck, as he'd held her until she slept.

It certainly  _seemed_  that they would be compatible enough… Although the pile of turian-human vids he'd surreptitiously watched hadn't done much to boost his confidence, maybe his nervousness was misplaced. Surely, even if they couldn't get conventional intercourse to work, they'd already proven that they could satisfy each other in other ways. Hopefully, that would be enough. If only he'd had the time to—

"Garrus."

Shepard was standing closer than he remembered her being just a moment ago, and she was stroking his jaw and mandibles with an amused expression.

"Garrus," she said again. "Everything okay?"

"Hmmm?"

"Are you all right? We don't have to do this now, if you're not comfortable with it. What we did last night was… amazing, for me, and I hope it was for you, too. If it wasn't, I'm sure we could try just—"

It made him feel better, knowing that she was a little nervous, too. He knew he wanted this, wanted  _her_ , and he needed to trust that that was going to be enough. She was his best friend, the one thing in his life that made it all worth it, and nothing would ever change that. "Shepard," he interrupted her by pressing his forehead against hers, "We'll make it work."

"I know. I just want it to… really badly." Her fingers came up to rest on the top ridge of his carapace, smoothing away imaginary wrinkles in his shirt as she looked down and then back up again to meet his eyes. "This feels so right; I feel better than I have since… I don't know how long. Forever. I know it sounds stupid, but I don't want to mess things up. What if something goes wrong and you… don't want to—"

"Shepard." He interrupted her again, emphasizing her name with a gentle push of his head against hers. "This is me. And you. It's  _us_. It  _will_  work."

With that, he angled his head to kiss her softly in the human way that was more and more appealing every time he did it. His mouth plates were pliant and flexible enough to move against her lips, and he growled, a pleased rumble deep in his chest, as her tongue made contact with his. Just the thought of stripping off her clothes, caressing her, tasting her… He could feel the seam of his plates beginning to part, the spines of his fringe beginning to flare, just from the memories and the feeling of her body pressed up against his.

"This working for you?" he murmured.

"Oh, yes." She kissed him again, teasing his mandibles with the tips of her fingers as she held his head still simply by the fact that it felt  _too damn good_  for him to  _ever_  want to move. "Working for you?"

He hummed his agreement against the continued onslaught of her lips. "So… bed?"

"Most definitely."

Not breaking the kiss, his hands drifted down to her waist, pulling up her shirt enough that he could lay his palms against the newly bared skin. Shepard responded by releasing his jaw and winding her arms around his neck as she pressed herself more firmly against him; nimble fingers tracing up the sensitive skin on the back of his neck. He felt her smile against his mouth plates at his involuntary groan.

"Shirt. Off. Now." She murmured the words in between light nibbles that moved from his mouth, to his mandibles, to his neck—each one sending a pulse of pleasure through him that made him feel warm and weak. Anything. He would do  _anything_  for her.

Reluctantly sliding his hands away from her waist, Garrus attempted to unfasten the clasps of his shirt. "I'd love to, but first…" He moaned as Shepard found her way to the juncture between his neck and shoulder. "First, you need to stop doing that, or I won't…" Spirits, she'd wrapped one of her legs around his, lightly balancing her calf against his spur, and was pulling him even closer. "Mmm… You really need to…" His thoughts trailed off into a pleasant blur, talons still uselessly fumbling with his shirt's clasps. "Yeah, you really need to keep doing that."

"What? This?" Shepard flexed her thigh, grinding herself against him in a way that made them both gasp.

"Oh, Spirits, yes." His hands moved of their own accord, sliding down to hold her hips in place as he pushed back against her. Burying his face into the smoothness of her neck, he inhaled, savouring the sweetness of her scent and mouthing her skin as gently as he could. How could he have ever felt nervous about this when it all felt so  _right_?

Shepard made a needy groan, a sound that was newly familiar, yet one he hoped to hear again and again. Her hands clenched the fabric that draped around the top ridge of his carapace as her head fell back, exposing the full column of her throat to his ministrations. "Why are you still wearing clothes?" Her grumble devolved into another low moan.

"I could ask you the same question," Garrus said, reluctantly pulling back so he could see her eyes as she straightened up. His breathing was shallow, the end of each respiration giving way to the soft purr of his subvocals, as he traced a talon along her cheek, over the bridge of her nose, and then across her other cheek. Shepard's lips were parted—she was breathing rapidly, too—as her fingers released his shirt to skim lightly over the markings on his face; her movements mirroring his own.

"I was so scared I'd lost you." Her voice was almost inaudible.

He pressed his mouth against the top of her head before leaning down to rest his forehead against hers. "I'm not going anywhere—"

"You'd better not," she interjected before he'd had a chance to finish.

"—except, hopefully, your bed." He waggled his brow plates suggestively.

"You ass." She laughed, swatting him on the shoulder as she untwined herself from his body and took a step back. "That's it. Strip, soldier." She folded her wiry arms across her chest and arched an eyebrow at him, as if daring him to defy her.

"Are you sure you can handle more of this?" He gestured at his torso, flicking his mandibles in a grin.

Shepard gave him a seductive smile in return. "Oh, I'm pretty sure I'll manage."

Garrus began to unfasten the clasps that ran down the side of his shirt—the task much easier now, with Shepard a few paces away— while letting his gaze travel slowly, deliberately, down the length of her body, feeling pleased at the way her cheeks flushed further under his direct scrutiny. Her shirt was bunched up a little, leaving a tempting strip of exposed skin just above her waist.

When he'd finished the last clasp, he let his hands fall, leaving his shirt open and gaping slightly along his side without fully removing it. "Your turn."

"My turn, huh? You appear to still be wearing your shirt."

"Then do something about it."

"Be careful what you wish for." She stood still for a moment, watching him. Stepping forward into his space, she slid her hands beneath the fabric; her fingertips gliding over his chest as he drew in a shuddering breath. With painstaking slowness, she pushed his shirt over his shoulders, keeping her eyes locked on his even as it fell to the floor behind him.

"I know what I'm wishing for right now." Garrus lightly brushed a talon along the bare skin just below her shirt, and she shivered.

In the same way that Shepard had removed his, she removed her own shirt; carefully measured movements as her fingers curled in the hem, lingering, before she peeled it upward and off. His mandibles were trembling with each centimeter of bare skin she revealed. By the time it lay discarded at her feet, his fringe was warm and heavy from the rush of blood.

He closed the gap between them, pulling her close; unable to waste another second without feeling her body against his once more. "Shepard, I want this—I want  _you_ …"

"Me, too." She kissed him passionately, nipping at his mouth plates, while her hands tugged at the waist of his pants. "Me, too. You have no idea…"

"Mmm… I'm pretty sure I do." He reciprocated, hooking his talons into the waistband of her shorts and sliding them down. The scent of her arousal was stronger now, making it hard to concentrate on assisting her with the intricacies of his own clothing. Shepard was still struggling with the fasteners on his pants as he licked a delicate path up her neck.

She mumbled a curse, punctuated by a soft moan as he reached her ear. "Why are your clothes so bloody complicated? Just… off. These."

"Impatient?" Garrus' mandibles flared out with a flutter, teasing her, as he batted her hands away and undid the seemingly impossible fasteners with relative ease.

"Don't mess with me, Vakarian. I play dirty." Shepard skimmed the tips of her fingers down the front of his pants, putting just enough pressure along the seam of his lower plates to make him buck against her hand with a strangled whimper. His plates had been mostly parted already, and her actions were more than enough to bring him to state of full arousal; his subvocals resounding with pleasure and relief as the muscles completely relaxed, freeing his erection from the confines of his protective plating.

"Have I told you I love it when you play dirty?" He kissed her, letting his tongue touch hers.

"No," she gasped, as his hands circled her breasts, "tell me again."

"I love it," Garrus bent his head down to tenderly mouth her left breast, "when you," he moved to the other one, "play dirty."

"Fuck," Shepard groaned, "take off your fucking pants."

"As my lady commands."

Finally, they were both gloriously and fully naked, and he gathered her up easily and tossed her gently on to the bed. Shepard giggled—giggled!—as he crawled up after her and pinned her beneath him. He was careful not to drop his full weight down on top of her, loosely holding her arms above her head. Her chest was heaving in a most delightful way; her hair tousled and fanned out across the sheets. "You're beautiful," he whispered, the rumbling in his chest almost drowning out his words. "How did I get so lucky?"

"I could ask you the same question." She smiled, wriggling her hands free before he'd even realized what she was doing and dragging his head down for a long kiss that left them both panting.

"So, how do we do this?" He was overcome with want, unable to stop himself from stealing soft nips along her throat.

Shepard gave a husky chuckle. "Well, we could dig up that Fornax you got for your birthday. I seem to remember quite a few different positions that—"

"Now that's just mean." Garrus deliberately gave her a slightly firmer nibble in retaliation.

She squawked and then laughed. "That's a 'no' then? Okay, well, my understanding is you put yours inside mine, and then we—"

"All right, that's it. No more talking for you." He propped himself up on his arms, edging forward enough for his tip to brush up against her entrance.

"No more talking, huh?" Shepard said softly, winding her arms around his neck and twining her legs up and over his hips in an attempt to draw him closer. "What about this?"

The urge to thrust forward into her was nearly overpowering and he exhaled sharply, barely clinging to the last vestiges of his self-control. "What about what?"

She kissed him. "I love you." She kissed him again, harder. "I love you."

He slipped inside her and almost lost it—she was unbelievably slippery and wet—trying to go slow and failing as he pressed further and further until he was completely enveloped in her. The angle wasn't quite right, but it was close enough, and he didn't care. It was perfect. She was perfect. "I love you," he was murmuring back. "All I've ever wanted."

Then, even those words were simultaneously too much and not enough to convey what he was feeling. With each thrust, each kiss, each caress, his love for her bloomed in his chest until he thought he might burst as they raced each other towards the edge. Shepard came seconds before him, clenching around him with a hoarse cry and, as in everything else between them, he followed right behind her with no hesitation.

Nestled together afterwards, with Shepard sprawled across his chest, he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this happy and content.

"I'm not ever moving from this bed again." Shepard was tracing a lazy pattern on his carapace with the tip of her finger. "Just thought you should know, since I'm not letting you leave either."

"Mmm… I'm surprisingly okay with that."

"Good, it's settled then."

Garrus nuzzled the top of her head affectionately, stroking a talon along the scarred skin of her shoulder until she fell asleep.  _Worth it_ , he thought muzzily as he drifted off, too.  _Worth risking everything for._

_My mate, my one, my heart._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, hugs and kudos and cookies for my beta, Josie Lange, for all her incredibly helpful advice and lovely comments.
> 
> Thank you to all of you out there for reading! I'm so grateful for your comments and support! There are only two chapter left to go after this one. *snerfle*
> 
> AO3 did some strange and awful things when I posted this chapter (somehow the first chapter was deleted and I had to re-post it, the chapter numbering is off, it posted multiple copies of this chapter, etc.), so if anyone should notice anything missing, out of order, or otherwise suddenly bizarre, I would be exceedingly grateful if you could let me know.
> 
> The only thing I've so far been unable to fix is that chapters 3-11 are showing up in AO3's numbering as 2-10, although it's correct when I edit the chapters (but not when they're posted). The numbering in the full chapter list drop down box is correct though. Ugh.


	19. The Culprit Revealed

Garrus glanced around, not that it was necessary. It was past 0300, and the CIC was essentially deserted. Kelly's post was blissfully vacant, and the few personnel that were present had barely given him a sleepy nod as he'd walked through. Perfect.

He slid his palm over the doors to the lab and they opened without hesitation. He locked them behind him, releasing the breath he'd been holding as the central panel changed from green to red. The lights were off—shut down automatically when the room was empty in order to conserve power—but they flared to life as he entered, making him blink a little more rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness.

The lab was quiet except for the dull droning and clicking of a handful of machines that he knew better than to touch. The workbenches were tidy and wiped clean, with a selection of meticulously organized tools laid out on one of them; presumably ready for Mordin's next round of experiments. Materials from the salarian's current projects occupied the tables along the far wall, and Garrus was careful not to accidentally bump into anything as he walked slowly around the room. He'd already deactivated EDI's surveillance here—temporarily, of course.

Mordin's terminal was black and silent as Garrus padded up to stand in front of it. He couldn't help taking another instinctive glance around the room before swiping his finger across the console's screen. The virtual keypad began to glow, in the same muted orange as the screen. It hadn't been easy to crack the salarian's passcode. It had taken him several weeks—and more than a few nights of letting Tali win at poker in exchange for some top of the line quarian hacking utilities—to finally decode it. He hoped it was going to be worth the effort. This wasn't the first terminal he'd hacked into recently, and he was starting to run out of potential suspects.

Joker had been the first one he'd checked, but his trail had come up surprisingly clean—in terms of the magazine anyway. Donnelly had also had nothing suspicious; aside from purchasing some earrings, which Garrus suspected he would see gracing Gabby's earlobes any day now, there was nothing out of the ordinary in his terminal history as well. Dr. Chakwas, Jack, Zaeed… all methodically investigated and crossed off his list. He had nothing to go on, but he was determined to figure it out, even if it took months of systematic elimination. He was certainly nothing if not persistent.

Garrus took a deep breath, flexing his talons until the joints popped; an old nervous habit from his childhood that had driven his father crazy. He keyed in the passcode, humming with satisfaction as the doctor's files materialized in front of him on the screen. Perfect. Everything was going according to plan. Now, he just had to find—

There was a soft chime, and then the doors suddenly hissed open. Garrus jumped guiltily away from the terminal in a panic. "I wasn't—this isn't what it looks like."

Mordin blinked, puzzlement crossing his features. "Officer Vakarian. Wasn't expecting you. Couldn't sleep. Was planning to finish analysis of new Collector tissue samples. Did you need something?"

"Uh…" Garrus stood there in a stupor, trying unsuccessfully to force his sluggish brain into coming up with any kind of plausible excuse for why he was there… and in the middle of the sleep cycle for the majority of the crew… and in front of a terminal that wasn't his, logged in as the salarian who was now staring at him with open curiosity. "I was just, uh…" His thoughts continued to stutter like the poor Mako had after one of Shepard's more vigorous tests of the vehicle's—and the crew's—endurance. "I thought I would… just see if your… terminal needed… calibrating."

He desperately wished he could crawl under the table and this would all just go away. The combination of guilt and embarrassment at being caught needled in his gut, making him feel like he was about to be horribly ill—because vomiting all over the floor would certainly improve matters. Memories of his father surfaced at a dizzying pace; how many times had he been caught doing something he hadn't been supposed to be doing? His stubborn curiosity and flippant disregard for the rules had resulted in almost daily arguments by the time he was in his early teens, and it had been a relief for both of them when he'd left home to begin his military service. Garrus held his head high, squaring his jaw and attempting to keep his mandibles from fluttering and betraying his nervousness.

"Calibrating? Hmm… didn't know that was necessary. Haven't had much time to examine Cerberus hardware. Too busy. Will defer to your judgement. Are you finished?" Mordin tilted his head quizzically.

"What? Yes. Finished. I'm… done now. You should notice an increase in processing power and efficiency. Now… I should really go and… get some sleep." He sidled towards the door, scarcely able to believe that he might actually be this lucky.

"Before you go… had been meaning to talk to you."

Garrus froze, mere feet from the doorway.

"Wanted to make sure that the gift purchased for the celebration of your birth was suitable. Would have liked to have attended, but too many critical experiments." He shook his head sadly as he talked. "Couldn't leave things unattended. Data too important to risk introduction of errors."

"I don't remember seeing a gift from you, but… my memory's a little fuzzy. I'm sure if you tell me what it was...?" His mandibles  _were_  quivering now, and there was little he could do to stop them.

"Instructional guide. Thought it would help with seeming reluctance to instigate cross-species romantic overtures."

Mordin?

_Mordin?_

Garrus stared at Mordin, failing to keep his mouth from falling slightly open as well. The vanity issue of Fornax, a cover-to-cover spread of digitally-altered images of him and Shepard going at it from every conceivable angle and position… had come from  _Mordin_?

Never mind that those images hadn't even come  _close_  to the real thing.

He was sputtering, feeling his neck growing warmer as he flushed. "But… why? Why would you—?"

"Attraction to Commander Shepard was obvious. Pheromones spiked rapidly when in her presence. Displays of possessiveness," Garrus thought guiltily of the way he had punched Kaidan on Horizon, "indicative of turian mating behaviours." Mordin nodded sagely, pressing his lips together. "Observed similar response in Shepard. Increased temperature and perspiration. Pronounced flushing of malar area. Human pheromone signatures more difficult to measure, but increase while in your presence was still statistically significant, even when factoring in calculated margin of error." It might have been his imagination, but the salarian seemed distinctly smug. "Was surprised that you and Shepard appeared unaware of mutual sexual attraction. Suspected that exposure to identifiable sexual imagery might help initiate relationship. Clearly, hypothesis was correct."

It took Garrus a minute to take it all in. "So, this was all your attempt at trying to… set us up together? You know, there are much more universally acceptable methods of doing that without resorting to, er, customized pornography."

Mordin shrugged. "Professional literature on human-turian sexual relations much too technical. Penetration angles. Graphical representations of mammalian arousal response when exposed to typical turian stimuli. Too clinical. Wouldn't do at all. Hypothesized that visual images would be most effective." Mordin gestured articulately with his hands as he talked. "Needed suitable material. Discussed issue with most knowledgeable crew member based on EDI's recommendation."

Garrus groaned. "I'm afraid to ask…"

"No fear necessary. Mr. Moreau extremely helpful in procuring appropriate material. Used his 'valued subscriber' discount card. More cost effective that way." He selected a few tools from one of the tables and arranged them neatly on the workbench in front of him. "Now, should get back to work. Need anything else?"

"No, I think what you've done already is more than enough." Garrus took the few remaining steps towards the closed door before something percolating in his brain made him stop and turn back. "Actually, there is one more thing."

Mordin looked up from the vials of specimen samples he was just starting to line up in a small rack. "Yes?"

"What did you mean when you said that your hypothesis was correct?"

"Had theorized that gift might help initiate romantic or sexual relationship. Was correct."

Garrus was grateful that he hadn't yet opened the door. "But, how do you know you were correct?" He and Shepard had been trying to be discreet about the change their relationship had taken. He had zero confidence in placing any kind of trust in Cerberus; who knew what the Illusive Man might do with the information that he and Shepard were lovers, and he didn't want to find out.

Mordin blinked. "Detected change in pheromones as well as residual aroma from recent mating. Salarian olfactory receptors highly sensitive. Similar to krogan actually."

So… that was why Grunt had been giving him lewd winks and fist bumps every time they'd run into each other in the elevator.

Garrus nodded, not knowing what else to say and afraid of learning even more things that he was reasonably sure he didn't really want to know. There was something to be said for ignorance. "Well, if you could keep that information to yourself that would probably be… for the best. There's no sense making it public knowledge, for now at least." He apparently needed to go have a quick talk with Grunt, and probably Joker as well, but that could wait until the morning cycle had started.

"Of course. Won't say a word. Happy for you. Shepard under too much stress. Needs support. Two of you appear highly compatible. Good for each other." After a minute, Mordin turned back to his test tubes, humming a melody that was almost inaudible.

Garrus stood there for a moment, thinking. He really was lucky—Shepard, too—that they had so many people looking out for them; so many people who cared. Despite the ridiculously embarrassing birthday present, the doctor's heart had been in the right place. "Thanks, Mordin," he said quietly. "For everything. It was... a thoughtful gift."

Mordin looked up, blinking matter-of-factly. "Glad to help. No thanks necessary."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, to my incredible beta, Josie Lange, and thank you all for reading. :) There is one very short chapter left, which I'm hoping to have up in another day or two.


	20. Everything It's Cracked Up To Be

_Cmdr J. "Hot Stuff" Shepard:_

_Where are you? I thought you were off-duty._

_._

_Chief Gunnery Officer G. "Sugar Woogie Snuggle Cakes" Vakarian:_

_I am. On my way now._

_._

_Cmdr J. "Hot Stuff" Shepard:_

_Good. It's lonely up here. And cold._

_._

_Chief Gunnery Officer G. "Sugar Woogie Snuggle Cakes" Vakarian:_

_Cold?_

_._

_Cmdr J. "Hot Stuff" Shepard:_

_Tee hee. Silly me, I seem to have lost my clothes. All of them._

.

Garrus couldn't help chuckling as he made his way towards the elevator.

.

_Chief Gunnery Officer G. "Sugar Woogie Snuggle Cakes" Vakarian:_

_Let me just stop by Miranda's office on my way up and requisition a new set for you._

_._

_Cmdr J. "Hot Stuff" Shepard:_

_Never mind. Found them. *sigh* Guess I'd better put them back on then._

_After I take care of things myself._

_Since you're so busy and all._

_._

The elevator doors opened and Garrus stepped inside, swiping the selection for the Commander's quarters.

.

_Chief Gunnery Officer G. "Sugar Woogie Snuggle Cakes" Vakarian:_

_Never too busy for you. Leave them off. Please._

_._

_Cmdr J. "Hot Stuff" Shepard:_

_Still cold._

_Freezing._

_Hypothermia setting in._

_._

_Chief Gunnery Officer G. "Sugar Woogie Snuggle Cakes" Vakarian:_

_Almost there. Try to restrain yourself._

_._

The elevator doors slid open once more and Garrus tapped off the messaging program on his omni-tool just as the doors to Shepard's cabin hissed open for him. The overhead cabin lights were turned off, but the ambient light from the fish tank and the orange glow from her omni-tool were more than enough for him to see by.

Shepard was mostly underneath the covers on her bed, with the top part of the blanket tucked under her arms, leaving her shoulders deliciously bare. She looked up and smiled as he approached, switching off her own omni-tool. With a deliberate stretch of her arms, she let the blanket fall.

He didn't say a word, keeping his eyes locked on hers, as he stripped off his own clothing; finally setting the new visor she'd given him just a few days ago gently down on the table on  _his_  side of the bed. It was hard to control his breathing, hard to keep the growling rumble that was growing in his chest from escaping… especially with the hungry way her eyes were raking over his body. When he'd finished undressing, he crawled slowly over top of her on the bed.

"Took you long enough," she whispered, pulling his forehead down to press against hers.

"What if I promise to make it up to you?" He nuzzled her neck, nipping very lightly under her jaw where he now knew it made her shiver.

Shepard nudged him away enough to meet his eyes. "Then I'd say that I'm extraordinarily lucky to have you."

"I know exactly what you mean."

This was all worth it; worth fighting for, worth being brave for, worth risking everything for. Her mouth found his as he pulled her close, happy to be reminded, yet again, of just how lucky he was.

* * *

" _Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk anything, you risk even more."_

_~ Erica Jong_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's over (apologies for the very short last chapter)... *sniffle* *sob* Thank you all so very much for reading, and for all your kind reviews and comments. I was blown away by the amount of support I've received, and I'm so, so, so grateful. *gives a group hug and passes out cookies*
> 
> A super special thank you to my wonderful beta and friend, Josie Lange, for her advice and suggestions that made this story far better than it would have been. I'm also incredibly thankful for all the time she took out of her busy schedule to beta this for me. Don't know what I'd do without you!
> 
> Another super special thank you to my NaNoWriMo support system - my good friend, karebear - for all her support and cheerleading while I was writing this... especially since I twisted her arm into doing NaNoWriMo with me mere hours before November 1st. :)
> 
> Thank you!


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